


All These Things That I Have Done

by gemjam



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: AU, Books, Literature, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 167,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig can't watch the trial of 18-year-old John Paul and not want to do something to help. He just doesn't know what that something might be, and so he begins to send him books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was convicted of murder. Stabbing his sister’s boyfriend six times through the chest with a kitchen knife. He did it. He never pretended that he didn’t. It just wasn’t as simple as the courts made it sound.

Craig knew his sister, or at least knew of her. Carmel McQueen. She worked with his mum. She was a typical dumb blonde, but she was sweet with it. Trusting. Always liked to see the good in people. Got involved with some bloke called Jimmy Hudson. He was controlling and violent and after a while, she couldn’t get out.

John Paul had never set out to kill him. He just couldn’t bear to watch his sister disappearing before him, becoming something that he didn’t recognise. Something broken. He tried to help her leave but Jimmy came after her, tried to drag her back, literally kicking and screaming. And that was when it happened. That was when John Paul threatened him with the knife and, after a particularly brutal knock-down drag-out between the three of them, was forced to use it.

Not that Craig could claim to have seen any of this firsthand of course. He only knew what he’d read in the papers and heard thirdhand from his mum. Still, his mind was made up. John Paul had only acted out of the intrinsic need to protect his sister. If it had been Debbie or Steph, Craig felt certain that he would have done the same thing.

The day that John Paul was found guilty of murder and handed a life sentence, Craig felt as though a great injustice had been served. He couldn’t understand how an 18-year-old boy could be condemned to spending the rest of his life behind bars for standing up for his sister who had lost the ability to stand up for herself. Anyone with half a brain could tell that it was self-defence, plain and simple.

Craig wanted to show his support, but he didn’t know how. He wanted to write a letter telling John Paul how brave he was, how he understood, how he was on his side. When it came down to it though, he simply couldn’t find the words. He was too embarrassed. He hated himself for that.

In the months surrounding the trial, he had found himself eating up information about John Paul, and he scoured his brain now for something relevant that would allow him to help, to be supportive, without having to show himself.

John Paul had five sisters and was the only boy in the family. Literally. There wasn’t even a dad in the picture. He loved music, mostly house, and worked part-time as a DJ at The Loft. He was good at football, on the school team, and supported Liverpool F.C. He’d been offered a conditional place at HCC the day before he stabbed Jimmy Hudson to death. He was going to study English Literature. And that was the piece of the puzzle that Craig decided to cling to.

He went into the Waterstones in town and picked out a selection. He had no idea what kind of books John Paul would like, so he got a bit of everything, some new releases, some modern masterpieces, some old classics. He bought 12 books in that first shopping trip. He spread them all out on his bed when he got home, looking them over, trying to decide which one he should send first. He finally settled on _The Catcher In The Rye._ He hadn’t read it himself, but he knew that it was a firm favourite with many people, that it was a coming of age story, and he hoped that somehow it would help. He didn’t know what else to do.

He sent it anonymously in a padded envelope and hid the rest under his bed for another day.

After a while, it became a comfort to send the books to John Paul. Once his initial stock ran out, Craig would make special trips into town for the next book, taking great pleasure in browsing through the titles and wondering what John Paul might like to read next. It was stupid really. He didn’t even know if John Paul got the books, let alone read them, but in his mind, he was making a difference. At this stage, he was doing it for himself almost as much as he was doing it for John Paul.

In an unsettled year, John Paul became his only constant. His family were having financial troubles, his brother was losing his mind, he was spending too much time studying and not enough time partying, so his friends at uni were leaving him behind without a second thought, and his sister got married. A few hours later, she became a widow. Craig had held her as she sobbed, refusing to take off her wedding dress, and he’d found himself wondering what John Paul would do.

A little while later, Craig moved out of Halls and into his sister’s flat, being there for her while she grieved and helping her look after her dead husband’s little brother. The days would drag, weighed down with sadness and guilt and sympathy, the three of them getting through it the best that they could. In those times, Craig found himself sending increasingly cheery books to John Paul. He just wanted to spread a little happiness somewhere.

Slowly, things got back to something like normal. Craig became Uncle Craig, the one who was always good for pocket money and games on the Xbox. He enjoyed the role a lot more than he thought he would. Likewise, Steph slipped into the mother role flawlessly, the two of them finding hidden strengths that they secretly thanked Tom for everyday.

*

“What do you do with all those books?” Steph asked when he returned from one of his shopping trips. She was cooking something on the hob that actually smelt good, and Craig realised that he was starving.

“What?” he asked, closing the door behind himself, the bag of books swinging in his hand.

“I never see you reading,” Steph continued. “And they’re not in your room. What do you do with them all?”

Craig went to sit at the counter. “Oh, you go snooping through my room, do you?” he asked teasingly.

“You know what I mean,” Steph replied. “All you have in there is boring textbooks. So what’s with those?” she asked, nodding towards his latest purchases. Craig looked down at them.

“It’s, erm...” He trailed off, looking around. “Where’s Tom?”

“Upstairs, doing his homework,” Steph replied. “Or reading comics. Why?”

“Just...” He shook his head, staring at his shopping bag again.

“What’s wrong?” Steph asked.

Craig looked at her and he was tempted to tell. He’d never been tempted to tell anyone before. He’d always liked having John Paul to himself. He suddenly realised how strange that sounded. He didn’t have John Paul at all. John Paul didn’t even know that he existed.

“You’ll think this is really weird,” he said, feeling the need to run it past somebody, and if there was anyone whose judgement he trusted, it was Steph’s.

“Most things that come out of your mouth are weird, Craig,” she replied.

Craig gave her a look and then averted his gaze, rubbing his finger over a scratch on the counter. “Do you remember John Paul McQueen?”

“The kid who killed his sister’s boyfriend?” Steph asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Craig replied.

“What about him?” Steph asked.

“I’ve been sending him books,” Craig blurted out. He could see Steph looking at him, but he didn’t look back.

“What do you mean you’ve been sending him books?” Steph asked.

Craig sighed. This suddenly all seemed so stupid and he wasn’t sure he had the words to explain it. “Look, what he did...” Craig began. “He was only trying to look after his sister. Like I want to look after you and Deb. It’s not like he did it in cold blood or anything.”

He dared himself to look up and he found Steph looking back at him. She seemed sympathetic. She seemed like she almost understood.

“I just don’t think that he should be locked away for the rest of his life for that,” Craig continued. “And I know that I don’t even know him, and I’m probably projecting all of my own crap onto him, but I just... I don’t like the thought of him being in there, all alone, forever, just because he was so desperate to help his sister.”

There was a silence, brief but loaded.

“So, why send him books?” Steph asked.

“Because I didn’t know what to write to him?” Craig replied helplessly. “I don’t know, Steph. I just thought maybe they’d keep him company, keep him busy, stop him from going insane in there. I wanted to do _something_.”

Steph looked thoughtful. Craig couldn’t quite read her expression, couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and he didn’t like it. He’d just given up his biggest secret and he was scared that it would ruin what he had. Ruin this imaginary friendship with a kid who didn’t even know his name.

“You should write to him,” Steph finally said.

Craig frowned. “What?”

Steph gave a shrug, starting to plate up the food. “How long have you been sending him books?”

“Nearly a year,” Craig replied.

“He’s probably dying of curiosity, Craig,” Steph told him. “Just write him a note. Tell him what you told me. I bet he’d appreciate it.”

Craig looked down. Somehow, after sending the initial book anonymously, it had never occurred to him actually write to John Paul. He liked things the way they were. He liked being some mysterious hero, some good Samaritan. If John Paul knew who he really was, some bloke from the local college who lived with his sister and hadn’t read a single one of the books that he’d sent to John Paul, he was sure he wouldn’t be in the least bit interested in him. But then, he was assuming that John Paul was interested anyway. It was doubtful that John Paul saw this silent friendship in the same way that he did, if he saw it at all. Still, John Paul had done so much for him over the last year, whether he knew it or not. Maybe that was worth a letter.

“Will you tell Tom dinner’s ready?” Steph asked.

“Tom,” Craig yelled, not moving from his seat. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Coming,” Tom called back.

Steph gave him an unimpressed look. “I could’ve done that.”

Craig shrugged, helping her take things over to the dining table.

He was quiet over dinner, his mind on John Paul and books and what it would mean to write him a letter. He still wasn’t quite sure if he dared. Would John Paul appreciate it, like Steph said, or would it simply break the spell of the careful balance they had built up. Craig wasn’t sure if he was ready to be a real person in John Paul’s eyes.

Tom filled in the silence, chatting about his day at school. Apparently he’d been learning about dragons, which Craig thought was entirely inappropriate considering dragons weren’t even real. Maybe he’d just lost his sense of magic. Steph seemed quite impressed by it all.

When the meal was finished and Steph and Tom were doing the washing up together, Craig went up to his room. He took out the latest book, Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_ , and slipped it into a waiting envelope. He was about to seal it up, but something stopped him. Steph’s words and his own nagging thoughts.

He grabbed his uni bag and pulled out a notebook, flicking to a spare page and staring at the empty lines. He had no idea what he was supposed to write. If he hadn’t known what to say at the beginning of all this, it felt a thousand times worse a year later. Too much time had passed. It was too late to suddenly introduce himself now.

He pushed the paper away, getting ready to seal the envelope, but at the last second he found himself reaching for the pad again, picking up a pen and starting to write in awkward, halting words.

 _John Paul_

 _I’ve been sending you these books for nearly a year now. I have no idea if you read them, if they help, but I hope they do. My name is Craig and I have sisters too. I know that I would do anything to protect them. Anything. You’re not alone in that. I think that’s all that I’ve wanted to say all along. Funny how the words can suddenly find you. Here’s the latest book for you. A spooky one. Hope you enjoy it. Hope things aren’t as bad as they could be._

He tore the page from his notebook, resisting the urge to reread it or take it back. This was what he wanted to say. It wasn’t like he’d ever have to bear the consequences if John Paul didn’t want to hear it.

He shoved the note in with the book and sealed the envelope, turning it over and writing the address by heart. He took the stamps from his desk drawer, putting on the right amount of postage, and then headed to the post-box before he could change his mind.

*

It was a week later that Carmel stopped him on his way into Drive ‘n’ Buy with a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re Craig, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re Frankie’s son?”

“Erm, yeah,” he replied. “Is she looking for me?” he asked, glancing over to Evissa.

“Oh, no, I just...” Carmel smiled at him. “Do you know our John Paul?”

“Your brother?” Craig asked, feeling himself tense. Carmel nodded. “No. Think he was in the year below me at school. Never spoke to him.”

“Right,” Carmel replied. Craig nodded and tried to walk around her. “It’s just that, someone’s been sendin’ him books,” she said.

Craig stopped and looked at her. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Books?”

“Yeah,” Carmel said. “And they sent him a note this time. It was someone called Craig.”

Craig shook his head and shrugged. “Don’t know anything about it. Sorry.” He was sure that he was blushing, that he looked guilty as sin.

“He wanted to write back,” Carmel continued, undeterred. “Our John Paul. Wanted to say thank you. Only they didn’t leave an address.”

“Look, Carmel...” Craig said, waving his arm towards Drive ‘n’ Buy as though he was in a big rush and wasn’t just killing time before going to pick Tom up from school.

“I know,” Carmel said. “Wasn’t you. But if you hear of anythin’, tell ‘em our John Paul wouldn’t mind an address next time.”

“I’m the only person called Craig I know,” Craig replied, making a move to leave.

“You’re the only person called Craig I know too,” she responded. Craig looked down. “Anyway, listen, say hi to your mum for me.”

“You’ll probably see her before I do,” Craig replied.

“Right, well, see ya,” Carmel smiled, looking almost apologetic.

“Bye,” Craig returned, walking into the shop.

He stood in front of the magazine rack, pretending to scan the titles. Had Carmel already given him away to John Paul? Had the two of them been discussing him during the latest visit? He hated the thought of that, of John Paul discovering his identity through a gossipy conversation with Carmel. He’d heard the way she spoke about people. She was never malicious, but sometimes she had her nose a little too far into other people’s business.

Craig pushed the thought away. It seemed like Carmel was giving him a chance to come clean on his own, encouraging him to get in contact with John Paul again, but properly this time. And it sounded like John Paul might actually want to hear it. Craig realised there was a small smile on his face from the possibility.

*

“Craig, do you want to play Need For Speed on the Xbox?” Tom asked as he abandoned his school bag in the middle of the floor. Craig pushed it to the side of the sofa with his foot.

“Yeah, alright then,” he agreed. “But I’m not goin’ easy on you just cos you’re a kid.”

“You don’t have to,” Tom told him, loading up the game. “You’re rubbish at it anyway.”

“Right, that’s it, I’m going to have to annihilate you now,” Craig challenged, picking up the second controller as he sat down.

He let Tom pick out the track and then they started the race, Craig giving it everything he had and still coming in second place. He wondered if he should be embarrassed at being beaten by a kid. He wondered if he should be more embarrassed by the fact that he demanded they make it best of three.

“Tom?” he asked as Tom picked out the next track.

“What?” Tom asked, not looking away from the screen.

“Have you ever had a penpal?”

“Not really,” Tom replied, screwing his face up slightly. He selected a track and they got ready to race. “OB got me this Malaysian penpal once, but he didn’t speak English, and I didn’t speak Malaysian, so it didn’t really work. Once he sent me a picture of his dog though.”

Craig looked at him sideways. “Right.” They started the race.

“Why?” Tom asked. “Do you want a penpal?”

“Kind of,” Craig said.

“Aren’t you a bit old for a penpal?” Tom asked casually.

“Probably,” Craig replied with sigh.

“But you still play computer games and read comics and eat alphabet spaghetti,” Tom said, “So you’re not really that grown-up for your age.”

“Oi,” Craig said, giving Tom a look and promptly crashing into a wall. He grimaced as he tried to right himself. “I’m mature.”

“Steph has to tell you off more than she has to tell me off,” Tom said.

“That’s not... Steph doesn’t tell me off,” Craig insisted. “And that’s not even the point.”

“She tells you off for not tidying up,” Tom said.

“If you don’t be quiet, I’m going to tell her you were playing on the Xbox instead of doing your homework,” Craig told him, under steering on a corner and shooting off the track.

“I’ll tell her you were playing with me,” Tom replied. “You’ll get in more trouble than I will.”

“You little...”

Tom crossed over the finish line, victorious. Craig gave him a look.

“Best of five.”

*

With Tom finally fed and doing his homework, happy in the knowledge that there was no Need For Speed track that he couldn’t kick Craig’s arse at, Craig went to his own room, pulling out his notebook. He tapped his pen against it restlessly, trying to work out what to write. Did he really want to make this real?

He didn’t know why he was tying himself up in such knots about it. He’d started sending those books as a way to reach out, to show support, and if his earlier conversation with Carmel was anything to go by, it seemed like it had had an effect. John Paul wanted to thank him. Why did Craig feel so nervous about that concept? Why did he want to deny him something so simple after spending the last year trying to give him so much?

He put pen to paper.

 _John Paul_

 _It’s me again. No book this time, just a letter. I think your sister rumbled me. Carmel. Caught me outside Drive ‘n’ Buy and told me about this mysterious ‘Craig’. I told her it wasn’t me, but I don’t think she bought it. People should give her more credit. Maybe it’s that police training._

 _Anyway, she said you wanted an address, so it’s on the top of this letter if you’re interested. If not then no worries. I’ll keep sending the books._

 _Maybe I should say a little more about myself. My name’s Craig Dean. I was in the year above you at Hollyoaks High but I don’t think we ever spoke. I don’t think we ever met. As a point of reference, my mum and stepdad own The Dog in the Pond. You probably know it. I’m in my second year at HCC now and I live with my sister and her stepson. I’ll call him her stepson to keep this letter reasonably short. Why do families always have to be so complicated?_

 _Sorry, I doubt you want the life story of the creepy bloke who sends you books. I’m sure you have friends, but if you ever need another one, you know where you can write to me now. And like I said, I won’t be offended if you don’t. Sorry if Carmel was barking up the wrong tree with all this, or if I’m just misinterpreting what she said to me. You’ll still get your books either way._

 _Take care  
Craig_

He looked the letter over. Did he just say ‘take care’? What a geriatric comment to make. The whole note was just nervous rambling really. He considered screwing it up and starting over, but then nervous rambling was kind of his thing. It was honest. Maybe he could work on it all night and make it perfect, but that would kind of be like false advertising. If he was going to write to John Paul, he had to be himself. Somehow that seemed important.

He folded the letter carefully and slid it into an envelope, sealing it up. The address went on, followed by the stamps, his own little ritual after all this time.


	2. Chapter 2

_Craig_

 _Thank you so much for your letter, and for letting me have your address. I really appreciate it. I’ve been wondering about you this last year. All those books that you sent me, they really helped, much more than I could ever really explain. Funnily enough, there’s not a whole lot to do in here. It’s been like a lifeline, having those books to lose myself in. It’s something my family would never have thought of. I love them, and their visits mean the world, but they don’t read anything that isn’t riddled with celebrity gossip. Not really my thing._

 _I appreciate what you said in your first note about wanting to protect your sisters. It should never have to come down to what it did with me and Carmel, and I hope you never have to make the decisions I had to make, but it’s nice to know that you get it, in theory. Sometimes I have too much time to think about what happened. A little perspective can help. Sounds like you’re doing a good job with your sister anyway, her and her stepson. Make sure you take good care of them._

 _Speaking of Carmel, I don’t know what she said to you, but I hope she didn’t come on too strong. She can be a little protective of me. They all can. They mean well though, especially Carm. Hope she didn’t give you a hard time or anything._

 _As for friends, yeah, I’ve got a couple, but it’s not quite the same when you’re in here. I could always use more, to be honest. My best friend from school still writes to me every week, but after what happened, her parents understandably don’t want her to have anything to do with me, so she’s never visited. There’s a family friend who writes me letters too, and looks out for my sisters and my mum. He really gives me peace of mind, letting me know they’re okay._

 _The only people who visit though are my sisters and my mum. They always make a really big effort to make sure they see me as much as they can. There’s enough of them that they don’t have to come every week to make sure I’m not left on my own. It’s not even been a year yet though. I sometimes find myself wondering how long it’s going to last. How long until I’m just some annoying burden and they squabble over whose turn it is to come and see me. If they haven’t gotten to that point already. They’ll all resent me one day. They’ll either move on or I’ll stop them from doing so._

 _So, thanks for being a fresh face, I guess. Thanks for caring about me. If you ever want to give them a day off, I can send you a visiting order. A long shot, I know, but I’d love to meet you for real. Say thank you in person. I can’t explain how much all this has meant to me, but it’d be nice to have the chance to try. It’d be nice to sit across from someone who wasn’t related to me for once._

 _Anyway, I think I’ve gone on at you long enough. I’m halfway through Frankenstein now and it’s really good. Spooky, yeah, but really human. And tragic. Totally sucks you in. I’m going to go read the next chapter now. Hopefully I’ll speak to you again soon._

 _John Paul_

Craig read the letter through three times, a mixture of emotions churning in his gut. Initially he’d felt giddy. To know that John Paul had read the books he’d sent, that they’d meant something to him, it made Craig so happy that he’d taken the chance and reached out all that time ago. It was such a simple thing really, sending a few books, and yet it had clearly meant a lot to John Paul. It’d made a difference, given him something that he needed. Craig felt proud. He felt almost like a superhero or something, stupid as it sounded.

Then there was John Paul’s obvious vulnerability, something that almost caught Craig off guard. It was clear from John Paul’s letter that he was just a normal kid, someone whose life had thrown them way out of their depth. He sounded scared, and Craig’s heart went out to him. The way he talked about being a burden to his sisters, the way he talked about worrying about them, even though he had much bigger things to worry about. His main priority still seemed to be making sure that they were okay at all costs, the very thing that had gotten him into this position in the first place. It was like he still thought that he had to look after them, that they were his responsibility. It was too much for any nineteen-year-old, let alone one whose own life and choices had been taken away. It made something inside Craig ache.

He wanted to write back immediately, wanted to offer him some stream of consciousness rambling, something honest and real. He wanted to connect. He didn’t pick up his pen though. The last part of the letter was stopping him. The part where John Paul offered to send him a visiting order.

Craig stared at the words. He’d only just gotten up the courage to write to John Paul, to introduce himself after all this time. Deciding he was comfortable being John Paul’s penpal was enough to get his head around. That in itself was a big change from the dynamic that Craig had gotten used to in his head. This was something else entirely. This seemed a little too real.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do in this situation. John Paul was reaching out to him. It seemed like he needed this, needed someone who was just a friend. Judging by his letter, there were things that he couldn’t say to his family, things he didn’t want to burden them with. Craig got the impression that he put on a brave face with them.

Maybe with Craig he’d feel like he didn’t have to do that. Maybe he could get some things off his chest that he had no one else to tell. Craig couldn’t imagine denying him that. But at the same time, he couldn’t imagine himself sitting in a prison visiting room opposite John Paul. The thought of it made him feel a little ill, a mixture of anxiety and unpleasantness. He doubted he was the kind of person that John Paul would want to spend time with anyway. He was no one’s best mate. But, after everything, the last thing he wanted to do was let John Paul down now.

With a heavy sigh, Craig forced himself to put the letter away. He couldn’t make this decision now. It was too much. Instead, he picked up his things, heading into uni for a lecture that he was already late for.

*

“Craig.”

Craig turned at the sound of his name, seeing Zak coming down the corridor towards him.

“You fancy comin’ for a pint, mate?” Zak asked.

“Oh, erm, I dunno,” Craig replied. “I’ve got, y’know, things to do.”

“Like what?” Zak demanded.

“I’ve got a couple of essays,” Craig said. “And I told Steph I’d pop to the shops. We need bread and stuff for Tom’s pack-up.”

“It’s like you’re married without any of the perks,” Zak told him. Craig opened his mouth to reply but then screwed his face up at the thought. “What is with everyone today?”

“What do you mean?” Craig asked.

“I cannot find anyone to go for a pint with,” Zak said. “Elliot’s busy runnin’ round after Hannah, Kris is busy pickin’ out his outfit for some event he’s doin’ tonight, you’re busy bein’ your sister’s househusband...”

“Can you stop saying that?” Craig requested, shifting on the spot.

“You’re all driving me mad,” Zak said. He looked at Craig. “You were my last hope.”

“Oh, thanks,” Craig said sarcastically. “Nice to know I’m so high up the list.”

“Well, when was the last time you bothered comin’ for a pint with us?” Zak asked. Craig knew that he was right.

“Maybe another time, yeah?”

Zak snorted a laugh. “Believe that when I see it.” Craig looked down. “I’ll see you later, yeah, mate,” Zak said, giving him a pat on the shoulder that felt something like a consolation prize. Craig gave him a nod and watched as he walked away.

He knew that Zak had a point. He never did go out with them anymore. He wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t bother asking next time. And if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t really use Steph and everything that had happened over the last year as an excuse. He’d never been that interested in going for a pint with them in the first place.

When he moved into the Halls, he wanted it to be a fresh start, moving out of home and striking out on his own. It wasn’t the life he wanted, but his grades weren’t up to scratch, so this was the option he was left with. It was better than re-sitting. But when it came down to it, he found it all so overwhelming. So many strong personalities in such a small space. It wasn’t really for him. There was no one he couldn’t get along with, but there was no one he really gelled with either. No one who just got him. A best friend. When he offered to move in with Steph to help her out, it was actually a relief. There, he knew he’d never have to be anything but Craig.

*

The shopping out of the way, Craig sat down at the counter and surrounded himself with notes and textbooks, determined to keep John Paul from his mind and focus on the immediate things. The here and now. He wasn’t having much luck. He was twisted up with it all. He felt so much pressure to get this decision right, for both of their sakes, but he just couldn’t get his head around it all.

“Hiya,” Steph greeted as she came through the door.

“Hi,” Craig returned, looking up at her. She was alone. “Erm, haven’t you forgotten something?”

“What?” Steph asked.

“Tom,” Craig replied, giving her a look. Steph rolled her eyes.

“He’s having tea at a friend’s house,” she replied. “I’m going to pick him up later. Honestly, Craig, I’m not that bad a mum.” Craig felt bad, going to respond, but Steph just carried on talking. “So it’s just you and me for tea tonight. Move all this rubbish out the way and maybe we can make something.”

“Yeah, alright,” Craig agreed, starting to gather up his things while Steph put the kettle on.

“Did you have chance to get that shopping?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Craig replied. “Oh, and they had those biscuits you like on offer. Got you a couple of packs.”

“Aww, thanks, Craig,” Steph smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek. Craig gave a shrug, looking down. “You alright?” Steph asked.

“Yeah,” Craig insisted. “Just got a couple of things on my mind.” He sighed, giving up on tidying his papers and rubbing at the back of his neck instead. “I, erm, I got a letter from John Paul today,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” Steph replied, her look encouraging him to continue.

“He offered to send me a visiting order,” Craig stated, watching Steph’s face. She nodded, looking thoughtful.

“You gonna go?”

“I don’t know,” Craig replied. “What do you think? Do you think it’s a good idea?”

Steph shrugged. “It’s up to you. You know him.”

“But I _don’t_ know him, Steph,” Craig stated. “That’s the point.” He sighed. “I’ve got this image of him in my head. And his letter... I don’t know, maybe it was more human than I thought it would be. No, that’s a stupid thing to say. I just guess he was never a real person to me. I never really gave much thought to his personality or his quirks or what he’d be like. That’s even more stupid, isn’t it?”

“Craig,” Steph said, her voice calm and level. “Just slow down a minute,” she told him. Craig took a breath. “If it’s getting you this tied up in knots, maybe it’s not a good idea.”

“So I’m supposed to just drop him, now, after he’s got his hopes up?” Craig asked, surprised by the incredulity in his voice. He wasn’t sure where it came from.

“Just, look after yourself,” Steph told him. “That’s the most important thing.” Craig gave an exasperated sigh. “Craig, this is just winding you up. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, writing to him.”

“But I want to help him,” Craig insisted. “I just... I just want to give him a friend. It sounds like he needs one.”

Steph nodded. “Yeah, I’d imagine he does.”

Craig felt himself calming. “This just isn’t exactly what I signed up for when I started sending him those books. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have written to him.”

“Look, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with going to see him,” Steph said. “But only if it’s what you want, not because it’s what you think he wants. Doing it for the wrong reasons is worse than not doing it at all.”

Craig looked down at his things on the counter. He knew that Steph was right. Now he just had to work out what the right reasons were.

*

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Images of John Paul in his cell kept playing through his brain. Only he wasn’t sure that they were images of John Paul at all. He’d seen grainy black and white pictures of him in the paper at the time of the trial, but now he was wondering how much of the boy in his mind’s eye was just his own creation.

He thought back to those days now, the days when he was forming plans to support John Paul through everything he was going through, and he checked his motives, trying to make sense of it all. Why did he want so desperately to reach out to John Paul? And why was he suddenly so afraid to do so?

Maybe he wasn’t that good a person after all. He’d always known that helping John Paul had helped him, and now he wondered if that was the only reason he’d ever done it. Some days he needed something to feel good about. He knew that he’d empathised with John Paul over the case, knew that he strongly disagreed with his sentencing, but he suddenly found himself wondering if that was the only reason he’d started sending those books.

He hated this, having to second guess himself. He didn’t think that it was really true. In fact, the first time he’d sent a book, he felt kind of stupid, not valiant. It took a while for it to sink in and start feeling good. Start feeling right and natural. And now, when it seemed to count the most, he was holding back from John Paul.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was actually scared of. Maybe it was an awkward social situation that didn’t follow any of the rules. Maybe it was having to see the inside of that prison, see what it had done to John Paul. Maybe it was the fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he’d let John Paul down by not being what he was looking for after all.

He sighed, turning over in his bed and hugging the covers to himself, trying to get comfortable. His eyelids were heavy, but his brain was wide-awake. He wasn’t going to rest until he had the answer. He feared it would evade him for the night, along with the sleep that he craved.

*

“I’m late,” Steph complained as Craig came downstairs. She was getting Tom’s packed lunch ready while Tom sat in front of the TV, eating a bowl of cereal. “Tom, you’re not helping. Can you hurry up?”

“You’re not ready yet so we can’t go anyway,” Tom replied calmly.

Steph sighed and looked up at Craig. “You look rough.”

“Oh, cheers,” Craig responded. “Need a hand?”

“Get us Tom’s juice will you?” Steph asked. “And grab some fruit for him.”

“Can’t I have Skittles?” Tom asked. “They’ve got real fruit juice in.”

“Yeah, and they’ll rot your teeth,” Steph replied. “Get a move on.” Craig handed her the juice and an apple. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. “Bad night?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Craig shrugged. Steph nodded, looking as though she was about to say something. “Don’t,” Craig told her.

“Okay,” she replied, giving him an amused look. She closed up the lunchbox. “Come on, Tom, you ready?”

“I was ready ages ago,” Tom replied.

“You’ve only just finished your breakfast,” Steph said, shaking her head. She looked to Craig. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Craig,” Tom called as they headed off.

“See you guys,” Craig replied. He watched them leave, suddenly feeling very alone. He wondered at that feeling. The flat just seemed too quiet and empty. He sighed and grabbed his jacket, heading for the door.

*

The bell above the door announced his arrival as he walked into Evissa. Carmel looked up from sorting various nail polishes. She gave him a smile.

“Oh, hiya.”

“Hi,” Craig greeted, looking around. She seemed to be alone.

“Are you after your mum?” she asked. “She’s not in ‘til later.”

“No, I, erm...” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “I came to see you actually.”

“Me?” she asked, seeming surprised.

“I’ve been sending books to John Paul,” Craig said. “You were right when you asked me about it.” Carmel smiled at him, looking proud. Craig wasn’t sure if it was directed at herself or at him. “Anyway, so I wrote to him and he wrote back and he said I could have a visiting order if I wanted one.”

The smile fell from Carmel’s face and she just looked shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Craig said warily. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Carmel dismissed, shaking her head. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Craig agreed.

“So, why’d you want to see me?” Carmel asked.

“I wanted your opinion,” Craig said. “I wanted to know what he was like.”

“What he’s like?” Carmel asked, seeming confused. “How do you mean?”

Craig shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know him. And I don’t know what to expect. But I think I’d like to go. I’d like to meet him if he wants to meet me. But it’s just...”

Carmel looked down. She played with a couple of things on the table, obviously uncomfortable. She finally met Craig’s gaze again. “It’s not nice,” she said. “It’s not meant to be. If it was nice it wouldn’t be much of a punishment.” Craig nodded, feeling something twist in his gut. “But it’s not horrific or anything. Like, it’s not cold. I always thought it would be cold for some reason. That sounds like a really blonde thing to say, dunnit?”

“No,” Craig replied honestly. Cold and heartless was kind of how he’d pictured it too.

“And John Paul,” Carmel continued, “He’s just a normal lad. He’s pretty quiet and sensitive really, especially compared to some of us. He’s not rough or aggressive or anything like that. He’s kind of a sweetheart. You don’t have to be scared of him.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Craig dismissed, shaking his head, but then he suddenly wondered if maybe, at the back of his mind, he hadn’t been a little bit scared. John Paul was a convicted murderer after all. There were certain connotations that came with that fact, whether Craig personally believed the verdict or not.

“I think you’d get on,” Carmel said with a little shrug. “But I understand if you don’t want to go. You don’t owe him anything.” Craig felt himself cringe. He wished he could believe that. “And thanks for all those books you sent,” Carmel added. “I know he was dead grateful for them. It was such a nice thing to do.”

Craig shrugged, feeling a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s not a big deal.”

“And don’t worry,” Carmel said. “I won’t tell him you were asking me about him. Whether you go or you don’t. I’m not a stirrer.”

Craig gave her a little smile. “Thanks.” Carmel gave a nod and busied herself with her nail polish again.

*

 _John Paul_

 _Thanks for your letter. It was really nice hearing from you. I’ve been wondering about you this last year too. I know that I kind of know who you are, but I guess sometimes I feel like I only really know what you did. I’d like that to change. Reading your letter was a nice start._

 _I’m so glad to hear that you’ve enjoyed the books and they’ve helped you in some way. I was hoping they might give you something positive to focus on. Or maybe just an escape. I’m not sure really, to be honest. I just hoped you’d get something out of them. I’m really happy that you did. If you ever have any requests for what you’d like to read, let me know. I’d love to know which your favourites were._

 _Thanks for your wishes for my sister. She’s had a really hard year, what with various things, but we’re really close, and we’ve gotten through it together. She’s doing okay now, her and the stepson. I actually don’t think I’d have my family any other way now. It’s not always perfect, but it works._

 _While we’re on the subject of family, I’m sure that you’re not a burden to yours. I’ll admit that I don’t know them, but just from the way that Carmel talks about you, I can tell how much she cares. She definitely doesn’t view you as a burden. But if you want a day off from them, send along that visiting order. I think everyone needs a break from their family every so often. I’ll be happy to step in. It would be nice to put a face to the name after all this time. Just don’t think that you owe me so much. Mostly, it was my pleasure._

 _Glad you’re enjoying the book. I’ll get the next one in the post for you in the next couple of days. Speak to you soon._

 _Craig_


	3. Chapter 3

“The easiest thing to do is to get the train to Crewe and then you can get another one that takes you straight through to Wigan,” Carmel explained, jotting notes down on a pink piece of paper as she spoke. “Then I usually get a taxi from the station to the prison.”

“Right,” Craig agreed, his eyes focused on her moving pen as he tried to take the information in without getting overwhelmed by everything else that was swirling around in his head. It was just some travel instructions, he told himself. He could handle travel instructions.

“Takes about an hour and a half all together,” Carmel continued. “Which I know is a bit of a pain. Can spend more time travelling than you do vistin’ him. I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it though.” She looked up at Craig who was still staring at her curly handwriting. “Are you alright, Craig?”

“Yeah,” he replied, meeting her eyes and giving her an awkward smile. He rubbed absently at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Having second thoughts?” she guessed.

“No,” Craig said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m just...”

“Nervous?” Carmel finished for him.

Craig gave a shrug. “Kind of.”

Carmel smiled at him kindly. “Do you want me to go through it again?” she offered.

She’d been so patient with him about the whole thing over the last week or so, answering all his questions and telling him what to expect when he got there, from where to report with his visiting order to what he could take in, being searched, what the visiting hall was like. She went through it all with him step by step, doing her best to put his mind at ease. Craig wasn’t entirely sure that he deserved it, but he was eternally grateful.

He’d been tying himself up in knots ever since John Paul had suggested the visit, and it just got worse the closer the day got. He knew that he wanted to go and see John Paul, knew that he wanted to meet him, but that didn’t stop him worrying about exactly what was going to happen when he went to that prison. Everything seemed so fragile, and Craig didn’t want to break it so soon after introducing himself. He was rubbish at social situations at the best of times. He had no idea how he was supposed to handle this. And he wasn’t even sure if that was the biggest issue. Seeing John Paul in that place, having to face up to it, it made him feel sick. This was all so much safer when it was just in his head.

He wasn’t sure why he went to Carmel really. She had enough on her plate. But she always seemed so approachable, and whenever he asked a question about the prison or John Paul, she never seemed to mind. She was always so friendly, so welcoming. Part of Craig thought she should really be more wary, after everything that happened with Jimmy Hudson. He thought that she should maybe have learnt her lesson about trusting people. On one occasion he even caught himself thinking that John Paul was locked up for nothing if Carmel was going to go out and be that naive all over again. He quickly pushed the notion away though. He couldn’t fault her for trying to live her life without having to put walls up around herself.

“No, it’s fine,” Craig told her, standing up from where he’d been sitting across from her at her manicure station. “You’ve gone through it a million times. I should have it by now. Thank you.”

“Well, do you want me to come with you?” Carmel offered.

Craig looked at her. “What?”

“I won’t actually come in to see him with you, obviously,” Carmel said. “Can’t without a visiting order. But I can go on the train with you and make sure you get in alright and everything.”

“Carmel, you don’t have to do that,” Craig told her.

“I don’t mind,” she said earnestly, in that disarmingly chirpy voice. Craig felt himself waver because, if he was honest, it would be nice to not have to do it on his own. He kind of hated himself for how immature that was.

“You can’t go all that way and not even see him,” Craig said.

Carmel shrugged. “Sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of company on the journey,” she said. “I know I prefer it when I go with one of my sisters than when I go on me own.” Craig nodded, looking down at the floor and shifting on his feet. “I’ll come with you,” Carmel stated firmly, taking the decision away from him. “Don’t want you havin’ an excuse to stand my brother up.”

“I wouldn’t,” Craig said a little too quickly, shaking his head.

“I’m only teasin’,” Carmel said. She smiled at him and Craig felt like an idiot. The door chimed and Craig turned, seeing his mother.

“Oh, hello, love,” Frankie said. “Have you been waiting long?”

“What?” Craig asked, not quite able to connect what she was talking about.

“I’ve been on my lunch,” Frankie said. “What’re you after, anyway?”

“Oh, I, erm, just came to see if you had any extra shifts at The Dog,” Craig said, trying to think on his feet. “Could do with a bit of extra cash, y’know.”

“You’d have to ask Jack,” Frankie said. “Why don’t you pop down?”

“Well, yeah, I will, later,” Craig said. “Have to go into college for a bit.”

“Oh, right,” Frankie said. “Well, I’m sure we can find something for you.”

“Thanks,” Craig said, giving her a smile that he hoped didn’t look too fake. “Well, I’m gonna...” He jabbed his thumb behind himself towards the door, taking a step back.

“Craig, here you go,” Carmel said, holding out the folded bit of pink paper towards him. Craig took it.

“Oh, cheers.”

“What’s that?” Frankie asked, only looking vaguely interested as she shrugged out of her coat.

Craig looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. “Erm...”

“It’s just a couple of products that I thought he could use,” Carmel cut in. “Some rejuvenating stuff for his eyes and some of that cool balm stuff for after he’s shaved. Was givin’ him a free consultation while he waited for you.”

“Well, it’ll be wasted on him,” Frankie laughed. “He’s not really that kind of lad. It’ll go straight in the bin.”

“Was just to fill the time,” Carmel said with a shrug.

“Thank you,” Craig told her. She gave him a smile. “I’ll see ya, mum.”

“Bye, love,” Frankie replied, already busy with something else.

*

Sometimes, on Friday nights, they ate pizza and ice cream and watched movies together, just the three of them. It had become one of Craig’s favourite things to do. It was just so comfortable, lounging on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, not having to worry about what you were wearing or the impression you were making.

Lately, he’d been on a mission to teach Tom about quality cinema, or, more accurately, the eighties films that he grew up with. Tonight, it was _Ghostbusters_ , but Tom was asleep before they even got to the ice cream part of the evening.

“Kids have no imagination these days,” Craig said, looking down at Tom’s sleeping form between them. “If this was some modern remake with a paper-thin plot and loads of realistic explosions, he’d be eating it up.”

“Yeah, Craig, that’s what’s wrong with the youth of today,” Steph replied through a mouthful of ice cream, giving him a look. “How old are you again?”

“Well, it was good enough for us,” Craig stated.

“It was good enough for you,” Steph corrected. “I always preferred _Grease_ and _Dirty Dancing_ anyway.” Craig pulled a face. Steph looked down at Tom. “I should probably take him up to bed.”

“I’ll take him up in a bit, if you want,” Craig offered.

“You going to get an early night for your big day tomorrow?” Steph teased.

“Wouldn’t be much point. Don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” Craig responded.

“You worried about it?” Steph asked, spooning more ice cream into her mouth.

“Not worried,” Craig replied. He tried to think of a more fitting word, but he came up blank. He had no idea what he was feeling. That thought alone seemed to scare him. He just wished that he could make sense of everything. He figured that, at least after tomorrow, it would be out of the way and he’d know where he stood, one way or another. It had to get easier after that. It was the uncertainty that was really making his gut twist.

“Well, I think it’s a really nice thing that you’re doing,” Steph told him. Craig gave her a grateful smile, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Just be careful.”

“Careful?” Craig asked, frowning. “Careful how?”

Steph shrugged. “Like you said, you don’t know him. You don’t know what his agenda is for all this.”

“Agenda?” Craig asked, raising his eyebrows. It was funny how he found himself getting offended on John Paul’s behalf, even though some tiny nagging part of his brain knew that Steph was right to be wary.

“Just see how it goes,” Steph said. “We’ll both withhold judgement until then. Yeah?”

Craig nodded. “Yeah.”

*

When the film was over, he took Tom up to bed and said goodnight to Steph, shutting himself away in his own room. He didn’t get into bed though. Instead, he sat at his desk, reading and rereading the letters he had from John Paul as though they held some hidden secrets that would reveal themselves if he simply persevered.

In each of the three letters, his original response to Craig, the note that came with the visiting order and his reply to Craig telling him he’d be there, John Paul always seemed to be two things – grateful and lonely. Craig could only guess at what his life was like in there. He wondered if he had friends. He wondered if they were the right kinds of friends. He wondered if anyone wanted to talk to a convicted murderer. John Paul seemed somehow soft-spoken in his letters, and sometimes a kind of immaturity would shine through, despite an obvious amount of experience with the darker side of life. He wondered just how John Paul would fit in in prison, if he fit in at all. He wondered if it would be better or worse if he did.

Craig knew what John Paul had done, and yet he couldn’t put him in the same league as the kind of people that he imagined in a prison. His letters were too normal. When Craig read his words, he imagined them in a conversational tone. It was just like talking to one of the lads down the pub. Craig couldn’t quite equate that with the charge he’d been handed. He couldn’t equate it with the ugly things that the word ‘prison’ evoked in his mind.

He put the letters away. None of this was helping. So many things about the situation were at odds in Craig’s head. There was no way that he could make sense of it tonight, much as he’d like to try. The only thing for it would be to jump in with both feet tomorrow. Otherwise, John Paul would never be anything more than words on a piece of paper.

With a heavy sigh, Craig climbed into bed, turning out the light. He knew he wouldn’t sleep.

*

Craig insisted on paying for Carmel’s train ticket, even though she got her purse out and made a valiant attempt to pay for herself. There was no way Craig was letting her go all that way with him for nothing and have to pay for it as well. Eventually, she gave him a little smile and put her purse away. Craig was incredibly grateful.

They stood on the station platform, waiting for the train to turn up, and Craig shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying to pretend that the silence between them was comfortable. Maybe to Carmel it was. She didn’t look half as awkward as he felt.

“So, erm...” He trailed off, the sound of his own voice seeming somehow out of place.

“Yeah?” she encouraged.

Craig turned to face her. “Do any of your family know that I’m going? Or who I am?”

Carmel shook her head. “I am the keeper of John Paul’s secrets.” She said it in a slightly dramatic, jokey way, but Craig got the impression there was truth in the statement. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t feel like they were close enough. “Not that you’re a secret,” Carmel added, like she might have offended him. “Only none of them know about you. They know about the books, but not who you are, or that you’re in contact with him.”

“Right,” Craig said, looking down the track in guise of watching for the train coming.

“I told ‘em I was coming to visit him today,” Carmel continued. “I come on my own sometimes so no one thought ought of it.”

Craig looked at her again. “Thanks.”

Carmel shrugged. “I think you’ll be good for him. He could do with a friend that he’ll actually let in.”

Craig didn’t know what that meant, but, again, he didn’t feel it was his place to ask. John Paul had mentioned two friends in his first letter, but Craig wondered if he held them at arm’s length a little, kept things from them like he kept things from his family. He wondered if old friends were just more people he had to put a brave face on for. Maybe someone who only knew him as John Paul the convict was exactly what he needed. The thought made Craig a little sad because, in reality, he saw John Paul as so much more than that.

His thoughts were brought to a stop as the train arrived. He took a breath and smiled at Carmel, ushering her on before him as though his attempted chivalry would somehow make up for some of her kindness.

They didn’t talk much as they travelled. Craig was actually quite glad. He didn’t really want to talk about John Paul because he didn’t feel like he really knew enough about him yet to hold a conversation, and the little he did know he somehow didn’t want to share. The letters that he’d received were from his John Paul, not from Carmel’s brave little brother. He wasn’t sure that really made sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling none the less.

Still, he was glad of Carmel’s company, whether they spoke or not. It was nice to have someone there who knew what they were doing. It was nice to not be on his own.

When they got to the prison, Carmel directed him to the right place and talked him through the process again, everything so matter of fact to her. This routine was part of her life now, just like Craig’s routine of sending the books had become a part of his. He was only allowed to take in some loose change, nothing else, so Carmel showed him the lockers where he could leave the rest of his things and then pointed him in the right direction, giving him a kind smile before sitting down in the waiting area, picking up an old copy of OK! magazine. Somehow it looked like such a sad little scene.

Craig took a breath, heading towards the visiting hall. He felt too hot and his palms were sweaty, his stomach churning with bile and emotion. His skin was on edge, and something was telling him to run, but he pushed the thought away. He was here now. John Paul was waiting for him. He’d set this all in motion and now he had to see it through. He just reminded himself of the reasons that he’d started this, his need to reach out and make a difference. Now was his chance.

He had to empty his pockets for the guards and walk through a metal detector before being patted down. The whole thing was slightly humiliating and made Craig feel guilty when he had nothing to feel guilty about. Authority figures had always had that effect on him. They directed him towards a table and then turned their backs, leaving him to stand in the entrance to the visiting hall, trying to take it all in.

The room was clean and fairly bright, which he somehow didn’t quite expect. It was still impersonal though, off-white walls and plastic chairs around cheap looking tables. No character. Nothing cheery or particularly inviting. As he looked around, he felt nervous, his mind coming up with possible crimes as he scanned the inmates who sat chatting with their visitors. He wasn’t sure that he liked being in such close proximity to so many criminals. He felt certain they could snap him like a twig. He’d never been able to stand up to bullies. Somehow this reminded him a little too much of being back at school.

He pushed the thoughts away and sought out the table he’d been directed to, his eyes landing on John Paul. He was both familiar and not. He did resemble the image Craig had in his mind and yet he was different than the boy he remembered from those newspaper photographs. Quite how, Craig couldn’t put his finger on. He had blond hair and blue eyes, something that made him look youthful and innocent, his pale skin covered by a grey T-shirt and some prison regulation navy pants. He was leaning back in his seat, looking fairly comfortable as he stared off to the side where the vending machines were, lips slightly pursed, whether in contemplation or sadness or worry, Craig couldn’t quite tell.

He stood there for far too long, simply staring, unable to get his feet to move. He wanted to go over, but he wasn’t sure how to approach him, how to introduce himself. He had no idea what he was supposed to say after all this time. Then John Paul glanced over and caught him staring and Craig instinctively looked down at his feet like an idiot. He sighed, shaking his head slightly, and forced himself to look up. John Paul was still looking at him. Craig gave him an awkward smile and began to walk over.

“You Craig?” John Paul asked.

Craig nodded. “Yeah. Hi.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and then shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Hi,” John Paul replied with the vaguest hint of a smile. “You gonna sit down?”

Craig looked at the chair beside him and then pulled his hands out of his pockets, sitting down a little too heavily. He shifted and pulled his chair in a little. John Paul glanced around the room.

“So, how are you?” Craig asked, trying desperately to think of something to say.

John Paul looked at him. “Fantastic,” he said dryly. Craig felt like an idiot.

“Sorry.”

John Paul shook his head, suddenly sitting forward in his seat, and it made Craig shrink back slightly. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came off as desperate in my letter,” he said. “I mean, you were nice enough to send me those books and then write to me, and I had to go and push my luck and demand you come see me.” He gave a shrug. “But you’re here, so I guess you must be pretty desperate too.”

Craig looked down, feeling his cheeks colour. He swallowed, trying to think of something to say, but his mind had gone blank. He had no idea how to respond.

“That was a joke,” John Paul told him. Craig looked up to see John Paul giving him a smile before leaning back in his chair again. “Seriously, thanks, for the books and the letter and, and for coming here.”

“It was... it was no problem,” Craig dismissed. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the vending machines. “You want a drink or something?” he offered.

“Yeah, coffee’d be good,” John Paul replied. “Thanks.”

Craig nodded, getting to his feet. He took a step away and then turned back around. “How do you...?”

“You put the money in and then you just press the right button,” John Paul told him.

“No, I mean...”

“I know what you meant,” John Paul replied, looking amused. “Milk, no sugar.”

Craig nodded again, walking over to the machines. He got two coffees, trying to calm his nerves as he waited for the vending machine to do its thing. Somehow he found John Paul’s normality disarming. Craig felt as though things should be sombre, but John Paul was talking to him like this was just a normal meeting. It seemed so out of place in this environment. But as Craig headed back over to the table, coffees in hand, he willed himself to loosen up. He had to relax a little, for John Paul’s sake.

“Cheers,” John Paul said as Craig put his drink down in front of him. He took a sip. “I was only trying to break the tension before, y’know,” he said. “I wasn’t making fun of you or anything.”

“I know,” Craig replied.

“You are allowed to smile in here,” John Paul told him. “They haven’t banned it yet.” Craig smiled, more out of amusement than anything else. “Yeah, you should definitely smile more,” John Paul said, watching him. Craig bowed his head, embarrassed. John Paul looked away awkwardly and Craig felt bad.

“So, you, erm, you have things to smile about?” Craig asked. It was supposed to sound hopeful, focusing on the good things rather than the bad, but somehow, once he’d said it out loud, it just sounded bleak. He cringed. He wanted to walk out and start this whole thing over again.

“Yeah, I still have things to smile about,” John Paul replied. “Like the kindness of strangers. And getting picked on and fussed over by my sisters. I think I’m the only person in an all-male prison who still manages to get bullied by girls.” Craig smiled at the image. There was such fondness in John Paul’s words. “So, you’re at HCC, right?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed.

“What are you studying?” John Paul asked.

“Business.”

John Paul gave a nod. “Was kind of hoping it would be law.”

Craig gave half a smile, looking down. “Can’t you appeal?” he asked. “The verdict?”

“Yeah,” John Paul responded. “But I still can’t afford a half-decent lawyer, so there’s not really much point.” He stared at his hands on the table. “People think I’m stupid for not trying, so I know why you’re asking. It’s worth a shot, right? Only, when you’re on trial for murder, the prosecution say some really awful things about you, like you’re not sat right there in the room. They have to make you sound guilty. And I still remember every word.” Craig could see his eyes threatening to fill with tears. It was such a hard thing to watch, his stomach clenching as his instincts told him to help, but he didn’t know how. John Paul took a deep breath and seemed to push the demons away, looking up at Craig. “I can’t put myself through that again. Not unless there was a chance it would make a difference. Which there isn’t, really. So...”

Craig nodded. He wondered how it could physically hurt to feel for somebody. “I’m sorry.”

“You can stop saying that,” John Paul told him.

Craig shook his head. He didn’t know how to tell John Paul that he wasn’t sorry for asking the question, he was sorry for the situation John Paul had found himself in. He was sorry for everything he’d had to go through.

“So, did you get here alright?” John Paul asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Craig replied, looking up at him. “Yeah, fine. Got the train.”

John Paul nodded. “They give you a hard time at security?”

“Not really,” Craig replied.

“They always give our Jacqui a hard time when they search her,” John Paul said. “Probably because she always looks like she’s just been on the rob.”

Craig gave a smile. He knew that John Paul was just making small talk because Craig was being so useless and awkward. He didn’t want John Paul to dredge up things that made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“She’s been in prison herself, so she gets what it’s like,” John Paul continued. “Which is kind of nice. I’ve made us sound like a right family now, haven’t I?”

“I think everyone thinks that about their families,” Craig said. “Yours seem nice.”

“You know them?” John Paul asked.

“Well, not really,” Craig admitted. He shifted in his chair. “I have a confession to make.”

John Paul tensed and Craig could practically see a wall going up. “Confession?”

“Carmel’s here,” Craig said.

“Here?” John Paul asked, looking confused. “Like, _here_?”

“She came with me,” Craig said. “To keep me company. And offer me moral support or something like that. I shouldn’t have told you this, should I?”

“Why not?” John Paul asked.

“Well, because now you know that she’s right there, but you can’t see her because you’re stuck here talking to some rambling idiot,” Craig said.

“I see Carmel plenty,” John Paul assured him. “She’s _always_ here. She thinks that she owes me. Like, if she had better taste in men, I wouldn’t be in here or something. But I was the one who thought it was a good idea to threaten a psycho with a kitchen knife, so I think the blame falls pretty firmly on me.”

Craig looked down. He had no idea what to say to that. He wasn’t sure what to make of John Paul talking about it in such a commonplace way. But then he figured that it was probably just his way of coping. Craig couldn’t really blame him for that.

“So, you and Carmel are friends or something?” John Paul asked.

“I don’t know,” Craig replied, looking up again. “Something like that. She’s been really nice to me, y’know. Helped me get my head around this whole visiting thing. She’s really sweet.”

John Paul nodded. “You know she has a boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, and then it suddenly clicked what John Paul was getting at. He shook his head. “Oh, I’m not... I don’t... I’m not after her or anything.” John Paul smiled, seemingly amused. “Do you know who her boyfriend is?” Craig asked.

“Yeah,” John Paul replied.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” John Paul asked. “Calvin’s alright. He’s visited with Carmel a couple of times. I think she wanted my approval. He looks after her. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

“But, didn’t he arrest you?” Craig asked.

“Well, yeah,” John Paul replied. “But I _had_ just killed a man. He was only doing his job. He just happened to be on duty at the time. It’s not like he’s the one who sentenced me to life.”

“Suppose not,” Craig agreed. He wasn’t sure he’d be that forgiving though.

“Anyway, it’s gotta be said, a rambling idiot is quite a nice change of pace around here,” John Paul told him. “My sisters are all pretty outspoken. Sometimes I can’t even get a word in. I just sit here for two hours. Not that I’d have them any other way.” He looked at Craig. “And I think I’m being a rambling idiot, aren’t I? I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea what to say to you. It’s just, what you did, with the books...” He shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t even get my head around it. I don’t think I would ever have thought to do something like that for someone I didn’t even know. It’s kind of mind-blowing.”

“Well, like I said, I have sisters...” Craig said lamely.

John Paul nodded. “I used to read at home. Shut off from all the drama. There was always a lot of drama round ours. Six women under one roof tends to lead to madness. Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “I only have two sisters, but they’re drama queens, both of them. Get it from my mum.”

John Paul smiled. “That was how I got into music. Put my headphones on and I couldn’t hear them no matter how much they screamed and shouted at each other. Which was a lot. Y’know, my decks and all my records are one of the major things that I miss, being in here. When I’m mixing, I can really lose myself in it. A tinny radio in a jail cell doesn’t have quite the same effect. I have my guitar though, Carmel brought that in for me, so I can play at least.”

“You play the guitar?” Craig asked. Somehow he liked that image. John Paul shrugged.

“I’m okay. Not great or anything. And sometimes when I’m playing someone’ll shout ‘Shut the fuck up, McQueen, or I’ll kick your head in.’ And I know they _would_ kick my head in, so I usually just shut the fuck up.” He smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. “Which kind of reminds me of being at home, actually.”

Craig felt that sadness tugging away inside of himself again. The images that John Paul was unintentionally painting with his off the cuff remarks were so much more telling to Craig than the things he was actually talking about. His life was so lonely, so devoid of the people and the things that he loved. It seemed as though he was almost hanging by a thread, grabbing hold of these tiny things in the hopes that they’d get him through. It broke Craig’s heart, even if John Paul didn’t look outwardly sad himself. In fact he didn’t really look to be feeling anything. He looked turned off to it all. Craig really couldn’t blame him. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms against the table.

“Is it...” He stopped, looking around and leaning a little further forward, lowering his voice. “Is it really bad in here?”

“You get used to it,” John Paul responded. Craig wasn’t really sure that was a positive enough answer to put his mind at ease. “Honestly,” John Paul said, “it ends up not being as bad as you think it’s gonna be. You can say goodbye to any idea of privacy, but that’s another thing I’m used to with my sisters. People’ll go into your cell and take your stuff. Not really the books though. Don’t worry. I don’t think half the people here can even read. Some of them can’t even talk in sentences. Sometimes they take sweets and stuff that my mum sends in. My first week here, I had this photo of my family by my bed. Someone came in and ripped it up, just to see what I’d do. Think they wanted to get a read on me or something.”

“So, what did you do?” Craig asked.

John Paul shrugged. “Called our Carmel, got her to bring me another one. I keep that one under my mattress. I really can’t be bothered to cause trouble. It’s not worth it. Most people leave me pretty much alone to be honest. I’m a lifer. Lifers don’t have much left to lose. Everyone knows that. You don’t mess with someone who’s so close to the end of their tether. Common sense. I can get by pretty well on that fact alone.”

Craig nodded. That made him feel a little better. Like everyone, he’d heard rumours of prison bullying and beatings and worse. He was glad that John Paul was given a reasonably wide berth. At least that meant that he’d probably be safe, but it also meant that he’d more than likely be lonely too. Everything seemed like such a double edged sword. Craig wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for anymore.

“And, y’know, once you get used to the routine of this place, it’s actually not as bad as you’d think,” John Paul continued. “We have a pool table, and we can play football outside, and there’s a gym. And the education centre’s pretty good too. I’m doing a few courses. Keeps me busy, y’know.” Craig nodded. “And we get movies too,” John Paul continued. He leaned in slightly, as though he were about to impart some secret. “You wanna hear something ironic?”

“Go on,” Craig encouraged, feeling himself being drawn in.

“My favourite film is _The Shawshank Redemption_ ,” John Paul stated. “Pretty fitting. I guess I just need to get myself a rock hammer now, huh?” Craig stared at him blankly. “You’ve never seen it, have you?” John Paul asked.

Craig shook his head, feeling incredibly uncool and out of the loop. “No.”

“It’s about an innocent man who goes to prison for a murder he didn’t commit,” John Paul explained. “It’s from a story by Stephen King. It’s good. You should check it out.”

Craig nodded. “Have you read the book?”

“No,” John Paul said, looking down at the table as though he were thinking about something.

“Do you want to?” Craig asked. “I could get it for you if you want.”

John Paul looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks. If you don’t mind.”

Craig shook his head. “Course not. Send you books anyway, right? May as well send you something you want to read.”

“I’m actually kind of in love with the completely eclectic collection of books that you’ve sent me,” John Paul said, that smile still playing over his lips, like he was talking about something he cared about now. It was so heartening to see. “I mean, I never knew what to expect. And it was great. Discovered some stuff that I never would’ve thought to pick up. It’s actually been quite enlightening in some ways.”

Craig gave an awkward shrug, feeling embarrassed by the praise. “Just didn’t have any idea what you’d like, to be honest.”

“I’ve been wondering something,” John Paul said. “What’s your favourite book? Did you send it first, or did you hold it back? Have you even sent it yet?”

Craig pulled a face. “I kind of have another confession to make.”

“What?” John Paul asked.

“I don’t really have a favourite book,” Craig said. “I don’t really read. I mean, I _can_ , obviously. I can read. I just don’t. Not often. I haven’t actually read any of those books that I sent you.”

John Paul stared at him for a moment and Craig avoided eye-contact. “You haven’t read a single one?” John Paul finally asked. Craig just shook his head. “Then why would you send me books?”

“I just wanted... It said in one of the papers that you were going to do an English Literature degree at HCC,” Craig said.

“Yeah, I was,” John Paul agreed, looking at him curiously.

“So, I figured you’d probably like books,” Craig stated.

John Paul nodded. “I do. And thank you. For... I mean, it’s really thoughtful, what you did. Really.” Craig shrugged again, looking down. “But you should read some. Or one. Read something. I mean, if you have the time.”

Craig nodded, daring to look up at him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

*

The two hours went by surprisingly quickly, even if Craig never stopped feeling awkward the whole time. Still, he was glad that he went. John Paul was instantly likeable, the kind of person that Craig could see himself having as a friend if they’d met under different circumstances. Everything about John Paul’s life in prison made Craig uncomfortable, and the easy way that he talked about what he’d done, what he’d been through, it was on the verge of making Craig’s skin crawl if he was honest. But he didn’t hold that against John Paul. He knew that it was something he needed to do to be able to cope with it all. It was as if he’d spent the last year desensitising himself to what he’d had to do that night.

Carmel looked up from her magazine as he came back through, giving him a smile and standing to greet him. “How’d it go?” she asked. “How was John Paul?”

Craig wasn’t quite sure how to answer. He didn’t have anything to compare John Paul’s mood and behaviour to. “Yeah, he was good,” he answered, wanting to put her mind at rest. “It went well.”

“Oh, good,” Carmel replied. “You got on alright?”

“Yeah,” Craig said. “Yeah, he’s cool. We got on well.”

Carmel beamed at him. “I knew you would.”

They didn’t talk much on the train ride back. Craig found himself dissecting every little thing that had happened in his meeting with John Paul. He couldn’t deny that he’d had fun. He’d enjoyed John Paul’s company. And none of this was ideal, but it was what they were left with. He could push away the more depressing elements and concentrate on being John Paul’s friend. He wanted to try.

When they got back to Chester, Craig and Carmel parted ways. She smiled at him and thanked him and then gave him a hug. Craig wasn’t entirely sure what to do with any of those things, so he simply returned them in kind, smiling and thanking her for her support as he squeezed her in his arms. It was both awkward and familiar. Craig was getting quite used to that mixed emotion.

After Carmel left, Craig went into town, heading straight for Waterstones and searching out _The Shawshank Redemption_. When he eventually found it, he plucked it off the shelf, getting halfway to the till before he found himself turning back around. He grabbed a second copy, purchasing one for himself as well. He then headed down the street and popped into HMV, finding himself a copy of the DVD as well. He figured that, if he never got around to reading the book, he could at least see the film. He could meet John Paul halfway.


	4. Chapter 4

_John Paul_

 _As promised, a copy of The Shawshank Redemption. I got a copy for myself to read too. I’m telling you that because, despite my best intentions, I’ll probably find something better to do when it actually comes to sitting down with it. I’m like that. Never doing what I’m supposed to be doing. So I’m counting on you to remind me or encourage me or guilt trip me into it. Whatever works. Just don’t let me get away with it, okay?_

 _I popped straight into town for the books after visiting you and I’m just getting home now. It was so good to meet you, man. I’m really glad that you invited me and I’m really glad that I came. I guess now I can admit that I was stupidly nervous about the whole thing. I had no idea what to expect. Not just because of where you are. But I wouldn’t hesitate if you ever wanted to do it again._

 _It’s actually nice to write this letter and know who you are. Who you really are. I have a much better idea than I did before anyway. It probably makes you uncomfortable that I’ve been reading newspaper articles about you and you didn’t even know my name. I never really thought about it before, because, to be honest, I didn’t think it would ever matter, but now that we’ve met, things feel a little different. Am I being strange? I feel like I know you better from the visit than I do from anything I ever read in any of the newspapers anyway. I trust you to give me the honest version._

 _Well, I hope that you like this book as much as you like the film. Let me know what you think and, when I’ve given it a go, I’ll have to let you know what I think. There, I have to read it now._

 _Speak to you soon  
Craig_

*

On his way back from the post box, Craig saw Steph and Tom jogging into the village. Tom ran up to Craig as Steph lagged behind, looking out of breath.

“Alright, mate,” Craig greeted, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “What’ve you two been up to?”

“We’ve to the park,” Tom told him. “I spun Steph around really fast on the roundabout and then, when she tried to stand up, she just fell straight over.”

“Is that right?” Craig asked with an amused smile. Steph just gave him a look, still catching her breath.

“Then we were racing each other back,” Tom continued. “I won.”

“You really did,” Craig agreed.

“Yeah, alright,” Steph said, straightening herself up.

“It sounds like you’ve had fun,” Craig commented. It made him smile to see what an effort Steph made to keep Tom busy and make him happy. Sometimes he worried that she didn’t take enough time for herself though. Sometimes he wondered if he should do more to help.

“We were just going to go into Il Gnosh for some dinner,” Steph said. “You wanna come?”

“Sounds good,” Craig nodded, putting his arm around Tom’s shoulders as they walked towards the restaurant. “I’m starving.”

Craig shrugged off his coat as they sat themselves down at a table, looking over the menus.

“So, how’d it go today?” Steph asked.

“Yeah, good,” Craig replied, not looking up from his menu, even though he already knew exactly what he was going to order.

“What’s he like?” Steph asked.

Craig wasn’t sure how to answer that question. He felt uncomfortable. Discussing John Paul seemed out of order somehow, like he was gossiping. John Paul had probably had enough people gossiping about him to last him a lifetime. Craig didn’t want to add to that, even though the rational part of his brain told him that he was just having a conversation with his sister. Still, he didn’t want to have this particular conversation with her. He felt protective of John Paul, like Steph might judge him. Or like she might judge Craig for seeing John Paul as the kind of person he’d like as a friend.

“He’s... nice,” Craig offered eventually. “And... normal. Nice and normal.”

“Right,” Steph said, looking at Craig like he was acting really weird. Which Craig had to concede he kind of was.

“Do you know what you’re getting, Tom?” Craig asked, making an attempt to change the subject. Luckily Steph took the hint and dropped it.

Dinner was easier after that, talking about things that didn’t seem to matter too much. Things that were familiar. Craig had always been a fan of the comfort zone. He liked to know where he stood. After the day that he’d had, he definitely needed something straightforward. A meal with Steph and Tom at Il Gnosh was just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. There was nothing complicated in that. He knew what to order, he knew what to expect, and, more importantly, he knew what was expected of him. Everything was simple.

Until, that was, Carmel walked in. Craig didn’t think much of it at first. She saw him and smiled, making eye contact, and Craig smiled back politely. Then she was walking over to him.

“Hiya, Craig, love,” she said, putting a hand tenderly on his shoulder as she paused for half a second, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Craig responded, his voice slightly strained. Then she was gone. Steph raised her eyebrows teasingly at him. Craig just rolled his eyes and looked down at his plate, picking at the remnants of his food.

He made the mistake of looking up again. From behind the counter, Jacqui McQueen seemed to be scowling at him. Until that moment, Craig hadn’t even put together the fact that she was John Paul’s big sister. If you believed rumours about that family, the biggest and the meanest. Craig told himself that he was imagining things, but then Carmel’s eyes flicked to him too, the smile gone from her lips, and Craig knew he was in trouble. Carmel turned back to Jacqui and started talking, about what Craig couldn’t hear.

“We ready to go?” Craig asked, trying to sound cheery but clearly overcompensating.

“What?” Steph asked.

“We’ve finished, haven’t we?” Craig said again, trying to avoid looking at the McQueens. It didn’t work. His eyes scanned over and Jacqui was still looking at him.

He felt cornered. He felt trapped. He hadn’t expected this. When he went to meet John Paul, he hadn’t expected for it to bleed into his real life. He almost laughed when he realised how stupid that sounded. His _real_ life, like John Paul wasn’t real, like the version of living that he’d been condemned to was just some work of fiction. But when he was in those letters, he was as good as fiction. Even in the skin, he was two train journeys away from everything else in Craig’s life. Now he was interrupting his family meal.

“Tony said I could have some chocolate cake,” Tom said.

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t mind some myself,” Steph agreed.

Jacqui made a move to walk around the counter, her eyes locked on Craig’s, but Carmel’s outstretched arm and words that Craig couldn’t make out stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t look happy though. Carmel had to have been telling her who he was. She had to be telling her that he’d gone behind her back and visited their brother. Just like Steph had warned Craig about John Paul’s possible agenda, Craig couldn’t blame Jacqui for wanting to know what angle Craig was working. He had no desire to explain himself though. He got to his feet before she made another attempt.

“Well, I’m done,” he said. “I’m gonna get off.”

“Craig,” Steph said, clearly thrown by his behaviour.

“I’ve got an essay,” Craig said lamely. “And, some stuff... I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Yeah, alright,” Steph agreed, still looking at him like he was losing his mind. Craig gave her an awkward smile and tried to look like he wasn’t running away.

*

Craig was questioning himself again. He was pacing and questioning himself and he didn’t like it. It was making his palms sweat, making him feel sick. He liked John Paul. He’d meant what he said in his letter about wanting to meet him again. But after his almost-confrontation with Jacqui McQueen, he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to go down this road. If it was just as simple as being a friend to John Paul, writing and visiting and getting to know him, he wouldn’t hesitate. But he didn’t like Jacqui sticking her nose in. He didn’t like anyone sticking their noses in. He just wanted this to be simple. He wanted to be left alone to work out whether a friendship with someone in John Paul’s position was even possible.

He knew that he was being a hypocrite. He hadn’t minded when it was Carmel’s nose that was stuck in his business, not when he’d needed her help. In fact, he’d dragged her into his business because he was scared. He wanted someone who understood. Now he just wanted to be left alone.

The thought of not being in John Paul’s life made him feel queasy. He’d made such huge steps forward, and now that he’d met John Paul, he didn’t think that he could turn his back if he wanted to. Maybe he was just what John Paul needed. And maybe John Paul was what he needed too, even if it wasn’t under the best circumstances. But what he didn’t need was the whole village getting involved. He hadn’t counted on being dragged into the McQueen family. It wasn’t what he’d signed up for.

Craig sighed and sat heavily on his bed. He was going around in circles and it wasn’t getting him anywhere. What was done was done and he had to wait and see just how this was going to play out. Until then, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Sweeping things under the carpet was something he was good at, he thought bitterly. What was one more thing?

Gazing over his room, he saw his copy of _The Shawshank Redemption_ sitting on his desk. Reading a book to get closer to John Paul seemed like a far better way to spend his time than the over-thinking that only led John Paul further away from him. He walked across the room and picked up the book, lying back on his bed and starting to read.

It wasn’t quite what he expected, but he was pleasantly surprised. It was written in such an easy, conversational tone that he found himself getting drawn in. Reading novels made him think of big words and imagery that would undoubtedly go over his head. This was so much more accessible. It reminded him of reading a letter or talking to a friend.

He was barely aware of Steph and Tom coming home, losing himself to Red’s narrative, until there was a knock at his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called, finishing the paragraph he was on before looking up at Steph who was stepping into his room.

“Are you reading?” she asked, seeming surprised.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Is that for uni?” she asked.

“No,” Craig said. “It’s just a novel.”

Steph raised her eyebrows. “A novel? Why are you reading a novel?”

“Did you want something?” Craig prompted, looking at her expectantly.

“I just wanted to check you were alright,” Steph responded, sitting herself down on the edge of his bed. “You’ve been acting really cagey since you got back.”

“I’m not being cagey,” Craig dismissed. “I’m fine. Honestly, it went well.”

Steph nodded. “You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to though.”

“That’s not why I was being weird,” Craig assured her.

“So why were you being weird?” Steph asked.

Craig sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just... it’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry.”

Steph shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“It’s fine,” Craig told her.

“Good,” Steph nodded. She hesitated for a second, smoothing a hand over Craig’s covers beside her. “There was something else, actually.”

Craig rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Well, a friend just text and asked if I wanted to go for a drink,” Steph said. “I was wondering if you’d mind watching Tom for me? I won’t be long. But if you’re not up to it, I understand.”

“Don’t be daft,” Craig dismissed. “Get yourself off. We’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Steph asked.

“Go,” Craig insisted, turning the corner of his page over and putting the book aside. “We can survive for a couple of hours without you.”

Steph smiled widely at him. “Thanks, Craig. I’m just gonna get changed.”

Craig made his way downstairs to where Tom was curled up on the sofa, watching TV. “Need For Speed tournament?” he called.

Tom looked up at him and then smiled, leaping off the sofa to set up the Xbox. “I get to pick the tracks.”

“The only reason you always win me is because you get to pick the tracks,” Craig complained, sitting down on the sofa. Tom looked at him.

“Okay then, you can pick the tracks,” he agreed as though he was making some great concession. “But I bet you a packet of jellybeans that I still win.”

“You’re on,” Craig agreed, picking up his controller and scrolling through the tracks.

“Where did you go today?” Tom asked.

“Just... went to see a friend,” John Paul replied.

“What did you do?”

“We... hung out,” Craig replied. “Had a coffee. Talked.”

“Was it fun?”

Craig hesitated. It wasn’t unpleasant, not like he thought it might have been, but he wasn’t sure he could describe it as fun. He wasn’t sure if it was right to describe it as fun. Not when he was visiting John Paul in that lifeless place. Fun seemed like a cruel word. But Craig had to admit that he’d enjoyed John Paul’s company. When he stripped it down to the bare essentials, he supposed that was the part that mattered, especially for the purposes of this conversation.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I had fun.”

Steph clacked her way down the stairs in her heels. “Do I look alright?” she asked, presenting herself. “My hair could do with a wash, but I don’t really have time now.”

“I think you look nice, Steph,” Tom told her.

“Thanks, Tom,” she smiled.

“Yeah, thumbs up,” Craig agreed, his attention already back on the TV screen as he picked the course. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“There are things you wouldn’t do?” Steph teased.

“Bye,” Craig said pointedly.

“See you later,” Steph responded. “Bye, Tom.”

Craig finally selected a track as Steph let herself out the door. “Right,” he said. “Prepare to part with some jellybeans.”

*

After avoiding the McQueens for a couple of days, Craig saw Carmel in the village, tottering in her heels and looking through her handbag for something. He felt a wave of nervousness flip his stomach and his first instinct was to hide. He didn’t really want to deal with being a part of John Paul’s life back in Hollyoaks. He wanted to know John Paul, not everyone that John Paul knew. His family’s dramas were definitely something that Craig had no intention of getting involved in. But he felt indignant. He wanted to know exactly what Carmel was dragging him into.

He steeled himself up and headed over to intercept her before she reached Evissa.

“Oh, hiya,” she smiled as she saw him.

“I thought you were the keeper of John Paul’s secrets,” Craig said pointedly.

Carmel frowned, looking confused and, Craig thought, a little vacant. “You what?”

“Didn’t keep mine, did you?” Craig accused.

Carmel shook her head slightly, her pink earrings swinging to and fro with the motion. “Craig, what are you talking about?”

Craig stalled, wondering if he had it all wrong, if his paranoia really was catching up with him. “Jacqui,” Craig said stupidly. “What were you telling her the other day?”

“Oh, that,” Carmel said, looking a little sheepish. Craig felt a surge of confidence at being validated.

“You told her who I was, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Carmel admitted. “But only because she asked.”

“What if she _asked_ about John Paul’s other secrets?” Craig demanded. “Would you tell her those too?”

“I keep the important ones,” Carmel promised, and she looked so sincere that Craig almost felt bad about getting so upset with her.

“I’m not important?” he responded.

“Craig, it’s not like that,” Carmel said. “I didn’t tell before you went because I wanted the two of you to have a chance to meet and see how it went. But if you’re gonna visit him, they’re gonna need to know who you are. He only gets so many visits. Every time that you go, we have to miss out.”

Craig felt a little dizzy. She was sucking him into John Paul’s life in the village again. She was tying him to things that he hadn’t agreed to. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” he asked. “We only met once.”

Carmel looked sad. If Craig didn’t know better, he’d say she looked heartbroken. “You don’t want to see him again?”

“I didn’t say that,” Craig replied, feeling himself backtracking. “I just...” He looked at Carmel who was practically begging him to give her some hope. It was like John Paul’s happiness was tied to her own. “Has he said anything about me?” Craig asked. “I mean, has he mentioned anything. He rings you sometimes doesn’t he?”

Carmel smiled at that. “Well, our John Paul’s not the most forthcoming person in the world, you know what blokes are like, but he did tell me that he thinks you’re dead nice,” she said. “And he said you have lovely eyes.” Craig frowned, wondering what she was talking about. “Anyway,” she added quickly, like she realised she’d said something wrong and was trying to gloss over it, “he’d like to see you again. I got the impression you’d want to see him too.”

Craig sighed. “I do,” he admitted. “But It’d be nice to get to know John Paul first before I get introduced to the whole family.”

“Don’t worry,” Carmel said. “Jacqui won’t bother you.”

“She looked like she wanted to deck me,” Craig said.

“She always looks like she wants to deck someone,” Carmel dismissed. “It’s just the way her face is.” Craig gave a small laugh, ducking his head. “Look, we’re protective of John Paul,” Carmel admitted. “You can’t really blame us. If I hid this and they found out you’d been sendin’ stuff and visitin’, they’d kill me. And, yeah, I do keep secrets from them for John Paul. But those are big ones. They’re worth me gettin’ in trouble over. This is too little for me to be fallin’ out with people over.”

Craig nodded his head. He might not like it, but at least he understood now. “Yeah, okay.”

“Which doesn’t mean that you’re not important,” Carmel said. “Between you and me, I think you’re very important. Our John Paul doesn’t really have any mates.”

“He said he had a couple,” Craig said, feeling a little defensive. He had no problem with the idea of reaching out to John Paul, being a friend if he needed one, but Carmel pushing him into that role made him feel uncomfortable.

“What, like Hannah Ashworth?” Carmel snorted.

“Hannah Ashworth?” Craig asked. He knew her. She wasn’t a close friend, probably wasn’t even a friend at all, but he knew her. It was another link to John Paul and everything was starting to feel a little too suffocating.

“She was his best mate at school,” Carmel told him. “Him and her were dead close. We were all sure they were snogging the faces off each other up in his room all the time. Turned out they really were doing their homework. She wasn’t his type. They were always together though. Until he went down, that is, and then she never bothered to go and see him. Not even once. How’s that for a best mate?”

“John Paul said her parents wouldn’t let her,” Craig said.

“She’s nineteen, Craig,” Carmel replied. “If she wants to go, there’s nowt stopping her.”

“Suppose,” Craig agreed half-heartedly. He didn’t really want to get involved.

“Anyway, I have to get goin’,” Carmel said. “I’m gonna be late if I don’t get a move on. I’ll see ya later, yeah?”

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other,” Craig nodded. In this village, it was inevitable.

*

When Craig got home, the post was on the counter, but there was no one around. He tossed his bag down and started flicking through the envelopes when he came across one marked with _HM Prison Hindley._ His heart practically skipped a beat as a wave of giddiness hit him. A letter from John Paul. He discarded everything else back onto the counter and tore into.

 _Craig_

 _Have you read Shawshank yet? I’d really love to take you up on your offer of discussing it, but I can only do that if you read it, of course. So, have you read it yet? (That was me guilt tripping you. Did it work?)_

 _Seriously, thank you for the book. You are an absolute star. And very prompt. I’m kind of surprised about you getting a copy for yourself, to be honest. Thought you’d cheat and just buy the DVD if anything. I’m glad you bought it though and I do hope you get a chance to read it, in an earnest and not guilt tripping way. It’s kind of nice to be a good influence on someone. This is new and exciting territory for me._

 _I’m glad that you can admit you were nervous about visiting me, because that means that I can admit that I was nervous too. I want you to know that I really appreciate it. That was some leap of faith you took for me. You mentioned newspapers, and I know I’m a bit of a monster in the media’s eye. Or maybe I’m projecting stuff from the trial. It all gets a bit mixed up, to be honest. I’d give anything to just forget the whole lot of it. But thank you for coming, despite all that. It was nice to get to know you too. And I’m glad that you’re still so willing to talk to me. I was worried about scaring you off and having to ask my sisters to send me reading material. There’s only so much Heat magazine a person can stand._

 _Speaking of my sisters, visiting can be hard to work out because there’s so many of them. But I would definitely like to see you again. I’ll let you know when I get some kind of idea of when it would be and then you can let me know if you’re still up for it._

 _Thanks again for the book, as well as for everything else. I’m going to make a start on it now, and I guess I’ll keep you informed._

 _John Paul_

Craig moved over to the sofa, sitting down heavily as he re-read the letter. He felt so many emotions as he considered different parts of the letter. He felt proud that John Paul was pleased with the book, and that he was pleased with Craig for buying himself a copy. He felt sad at the way John Paul mentioned the media and the trial, a tight tugging pain deep inside him. It was obvious that everything said about him back then still affected him. Craig just hoped that he didn’t really believe any of it. Finally, he felt close to John Paul, the conversational tone of his letter reminding him of Red from _The Shawshank Redemption_ , and the words seemed warmed by it, seemed alive. He could imagine John Paul speaking them. It made him feel warm and content.

Craig thought that it was strange that this had become the easy part. At one time he’d been terrified of introducing himself to John Paul. It seemed unthinkable. Now he felt comfortable with John Paul’s words, whether they were written on prison paper or spoken directly to his face. He wanted more of them. The scary part now was everything else. The scary part was that John Paul wasn’t just a possible friend who he could deal with alone. He had roots that ran through Craig’s community, roots that would always be there whether John Paul returned to them or not. Craig saw now that he’d have to deal with those roots in his day to day life if he wanted any kind of friendship with John Paul.

He pushed the complicated thoughts away, refusing to let them dampen his spirits. Instead, he got to his feet, jogging up the stairs to write his reply.


	5. Chapter 5

_John Paul_

 _You read faster than I do, that’s for sure. I’m nearly there though, I promise. I’m not used to this whole reading thing. Which makes it sound like I just learnt to read or something. I assure you I didn’t. Just not used to burying my head in a book. I’m really starting to see the appeal though. Anyway, I’m sending you the next book now so that you can get started on that while I work my way through the end of this one. And we really need to have a discussion about what you want to read. I’m still picking things up cluelessly at the book shop. I’m open to requests, so let me know._

 _And, yes, I did get that essay finished in time, thanks. Got another one to work on now of course. I probably sound like a right swot, don’t I? My friends at uni think so. I do put a lot of work in, but I had my options cut short by not getting the results I needed in my A Levels. Kind of scared me straight. I don’t want to make the same mistakes twice. I’ve always been ambitious, money making schemes were my speciality, so I want options when I leave this place. I can put up with HCC so long as I make sure there’s something better waiting at the end of it. If I keep putting the work in that I have been, then I should be okay. It’s all just a means to an end really, but hopefully it’ll be worth it._

 _How’s your course going? It sounds interesting. I’ve never studied anything like theology. Sounds like the kind of thing that would broaden your horizons. I hope you’re enjoying it and that it’s not too mind bendy. Or maybe the distraction of trying to get your head around that stuff would be a good thing. Maybe you could bend my mind with some of it one day. I’ll warn you, it’ll probably go right over my head though._

 _Anyway, let me know about those books. We really need to talk so I have some idea what I’m looking for next time, yeah? I’ll speak to you soon._

 _Craig._

*

Over the last couple of weeks, Craig felt like he’d gotten so close to John Paul through their letters. They wrote often, Craig always replying as soon as he received another letter from John Paul, and with each missive, Craig felt a little more confident and a little more comfortable. They knew more about each other, discussing their courses and what they’d been up to. They talked to each other like mates, making jokes and not having to worry about how the other would take it. They seemed to understand each other and pre-empt the reactions they’d get. Craig thought less about what to write in each letter and simply let himself be himself. It seemed like it had been a long time since he’d been able to do that with anyone.

He could sense John Paul’s tone changing too, sense him opening up. John Paul had always been flippantly honest, mentioning that night, what had happened, the trial and the media and his sentence. But sometimes Craig got the impression that John Paul had just been testing him, not in any malicious way, maybe it wasn’t even conscious, but he was giving Craig a chance to run, giving him an excuse. Craig never took it, and now John Paul seemed to have settled, giving Craig more honest glimpses than the version of himself that he seemed to parade around for appearances. Craig knew that it couldn’t be easy for him, having to keep up that front.

Craig thought that, since they’d been reading _Shawshank_ together, they’d gotten closer too. Craig had admitted to buying the DVD, which in spirit showed him giving up before he’d even started, but he hadn’t watched it yet. He was saving it for when he finally finished the book. Knowing that John Paul was reading it at the same time made it special to him, and much more interesting than watching some movie.

He was enjoying the book, he found it really engaging and easy to read, but sometimes the subject matter made him sad. It was a little too close to home. All the talk of a life in prison, the insistences of innocence, whether sincere or not, from the various inmate characters, and the matter of fact way in which an institutionalised life was presented by the narrator. He didn’t like to think of John Paul like that. He didn’t want him to come to rely on the routine that was imposed on him so that, even if he did one day get out, he simply wouldn’t be able to handle it. His freedom would crack him. The thought almost had Craig in tears. It made him want to plead with John Paul to take his chances with the appeal, no matter what people would say about him. Anything to get him out of there before it broke him in ways that he probably wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. He didn’t plead though. He didn’t even bring it up. He guessed at the reaction it would get, and he didn’t want to rock the boat. Not when it seemed they were getting along so well.

*

He put his key in the lock, pushing the front door to the flat open and stepping inside. His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied by thoughts of John Paul and the essay he had to finish, so he didn’t realise until he was swinging the door shut behind himself that the flat wasn’t empty. Steph was on the sofa, laying on top of, and snogging the face off, some bloke. Craig froze, a moment of panic and embarrassment fixing him in place as the door slammed shut behind him, starling them.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

He made a move to retreat, but as they both sat up, he felt himself freeze again. It wasn’t just some bloke that Steph was practically undressing on their sofa. It was Niall Rafferty. It was the man who’d made her a widow.

“Craig,” Steph said desperately, clearly reading the look on his face.

“Sorry,” he said again, turning around and fumbling with the door handle before finally letting himself out. He heard Steph say his name one more time, but it didn’t stop him from closing the door on her. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Not on top of everything else.

*

It was a Tuesday lunchtime and The Dog was thankfully quiet. Craig walked over to his mum who was absently wiping down the bar, clearly at a loose end. He sat down on a bar stool as she looked up at him.

“Oh, finally turned up, did you?” she asked.

Craig frowned. “Was I supposed to be here?”

“You ask me for some shifts, I tell you to come and see Jack, and do you bother?” Frankie said, giving him a chiding look. “We worked some out for you, but you never came to pick them up.”

“Sorry, mum,” Craig said wearily, rubbing at his temples. “Slipped my mind. Steph gave me some shifts at Mobs to tide me over and...” He gave a shrug, hoping she’d drop it.

“Hmm,” Frankie said critically. “Might be nice if you’d let me know next time.”

“Sorry,” he said again, an automatic response in the hopes that she’d just stop getting him. “Can I get a pint?” he asked.

“So long as you’re paying,” Frankie replied, reaching for a glass. “We’re in no position to be giving things away for free right now.”

“Of course I’m paying, I always pay,” Craig replied, taking out his wallet as if to prove his point. He was starting to get seriously wound up. He really didn’t need this right now.

“Well, I know what you students are like,” Frankie replied defensively. “Always skint and after whatever you can get.” She put Craig’s pint down in front of him and took his money. Craig took a grateful sip. “Your friends meeting you here, are they?” Frankie asked, passing him his change.

“What?” Craig asked.

“You meeting some friends for a drink?” Frankie asked.

“Oh, no,” Craig replied, shaking his head and taking another sip. “Just wanted to get out of the house for a while. Give Steph some space.”

Frankie nodded and then leant against the bar, her voice dropping so that she sounded concerned. “You do have friends, don’t you, love?”

Craig stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I never see you with any,” Frankie said. “I don’t know, maybe you’re always going to the SU bar with them or something. But you’re on your own in a pub in the middle of the day. I worry about you sometimes.”

Craig rolled his eyes and sighed. “Mum, don’t start.”

“I’m your mother, Craig, I’m allowed to worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Craig insisted.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Frankie continued. “I know you’d much rather be off in Dublin than stuck here at HCC. But you have to make the most of it. Don’t let life pass you by.”

“I’m not,” Craig stated defensively. Her words were cutting too close to the bone and he didn’t like it.

“And I know that you’re doing a lovely thing for Steph and Tom, but don’t let that be all there is,” Frankie said. “Make sure you have something for yourself as well.”

Craig thought of John Paul. He wondered if Frankie would see John Paul as just another ‘lovely thing’ that he was doing, something else to drag him down, or whether she’d understand that he was Craig’s something for himself. There was no way he could explain it. Even thinking about John Paul in Frankie’s presence made him feel like he was giving a part of his secret away. He never wanted her to know about John Paul. She wouldn’t understand. He was certain of that. And even though he hadn’t given her a chance to prove him wrong, part of him resented her for that already. And for that reason alone, he couldn’t sit here and listen to her. He didn’t need judgement right now, whether imagined or not.

“I’m going to go,” he said suddenly, getting to his feet. Frankie straightened up and looked at him strangely.

“You just got here,” she said. “What about your pint?”

“I’ll see you later,” Craig replied, picking up his bag and walking away.

*

Craig wished that he could just stop thinking. There were too many thoughts in his head, and it was all getting on top of him. He wanted to hide. He wanted to sit in his bedroom and read _Shawshank_ and shut everything and everyone else out. It seemed like the easiest option. He couldn’t go home now though. Not with Steph and that man there.

Craig knew that it wasn’t really any of his business who Steph chose to date, but it didn’t seem right. If it wasn’t for Niall, Steph would still be married to Max, they’d be living their happily ever after. Craig thought Steph should be more respectful of that fact. Maybe it was too much to ask for her to be content being married to a ghost. But she called herself Mrs. Cunningham, and Craig thought that should count for something. And of all the people she could have chosen to move on with...

Upon leaving the flat, Craig’s instinct had been to go to the other place he should be able to call home, but his own mum had done nothing but make him feel worse. Craig knew that she didn’t really mean anything by it, but she wound him up. Her concern came off like nagging. Craig really didn’t need reminding of the sad state of his social life. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since Darlene. He’d never really had anyone he could call a best mate. He’d thought that maybe when he started uni, it would be a fresh start, but all he seemed to have done since starting at HCC was move backwards instead of forwards.

Craig thought back to the boy he’d once been, the one he’d mentioned in his latest letter to John Paul. He’d had plans for world domination, and once upon a time, he’d believed that he could make. He’d believed that he could do anything. He wondered what had happened to that drive, to that self-belief. Somehow, everything had gone stagnant and he’d let himself give up. It was one thing to say that he planned to do great things once he left HCC, it was quite another to believe it. At this point it seemed like he’d just keep putting off his life forever. There was always an excuse.

Which is why he found himself knocking on the door to the student flat where he used to live. He had opportunities in his life, opportunities that some people would never have, and it was up to him to start taking advantage of them.

Zak opened the door, raising his eyebrows as he saw Craig. “Hello, stranger,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Just thought I’d pop round,” Craig shrugged, feeling self-conscious. “You busy?”

“Nah,” Zak dismissed. “Come in.”

“Thanks, mate,” Craig smiled, walking past him into the flat. He sat down and looked around. Another place that he’d lived, but this one had never really felt like home.

“So, what’ve you been up to?” Zak asked, sitting down beside him.

“Not much,” Craig replied. “I’ve got an essay to finish, but it’s gonna have to wait now. Can’t go back to the flat.”

Zak gave him a look. “You really need to get out more, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Craig replied. “You got any beers?”

Zak gave him a friendly nudge in the side. “I suppose that would be a good start.”

He leapt up, heading for the fridge, as Craig’s phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Steph. He wasn’t ready for this conversation yet. He cancelled the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

“Who was that?” Zak asked as he returned, holding one of the beers out to Craig.

“No one,” Craig replied with a shake of his head, opening the can and taking a swig.

By the time he was on his second beer, Craig was starting to relax a little, he and Zak talking about mutual friends and agreeing to go for a kickaround on Saturday morning. Craig was almost starting to feel normal, like everything in his life wasn’t ridiculously overcomplicated. Like maybe he could pull this off. He wondered if the fact that he had to put so much effort in made it pretty much meaningless though. Surely this was the kind of thing that should come naturally.

Elliot came in, chatting about robots to a weary looking Hannah. Craig’s eyes fixed on her. She was a very pretty girl, petite with long blonde hair and a confidence that didn’t quite dare shine through. He tried to imagine what John Paul liked best about her, whether he had a crush on her, what they had in common. It seemed that he couldn’t keep John Paul from his mind for long. He wasn’t sure if he really minded or not. In some ways, his friendship with John Paul was one of the less complicated things in his life right now. With their letters, he knew where he stood.

Zak elbowed him in the ribs, a mischievous look on his face. “Hey, has Elliot told you about his little robot competition.”

“Well, you don’t have to make it sound so patronising,” Elliot said.

“Don’t, please,” Hannah complained. “I have had enough robots for one day.”

“Who’s up for some Grand Theft Auto then?” Zak asked, gladly changing the subject.

“You won’t get me playing that,” Elliot said, coming over to sit down. “It’s immoral, and it’s completely unrealistic.”

“You what?” Zak asked, giving him a look.

Hannah sat down at the counter, flicking through a magazine that she found there, a resigned look on her face like this could take a while. Craig found himself watching her.

“That is not a realistic carjacking scenario,” Elliot stated. “It’s all too easy. I would hope the police would catch up with a real criminal a little faster than that. You can destroy a whole city and not get caught. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s just a game, Elliot,” Zak stated.

“Yes, well, I won’t be partaking, thank you,” Elliot said, sitting back in his seat with a note of finality.

Craig got to his feet, heading over to where Hannah was sitting.

“Can count on you, can’t I, Craig?” Zak asked.

“What?” Craig asked, pausing halfway across the room. “Oh, erm, maybe later.”

Zak gave an irritated sigh. “Yous are all hopeless, you know that?”

He started the game up as Craig reached Hannah, standing awkwardly by her side as he took a swig from his beer. “Hi,” he offered.

Hannah looked up as though she hadn’t even noticed he was there. “Hi,” she replied with a smile that was polite rather than friendly. She went back to reading her magazine.

“You’re friends with John Paul McQueen, aren’t you?” Craig asked.

Hannah looked up again. Her face was guarded, but Craig could see the annoyance in her eyes. “What about him?”

“No, it’s not...” Craig began haltingly. “I’m his friend too.”

“You’re not his friend,” Hannah said, giving him a look.

“I am,” Craig stated, the words coming out like he was trying to reassure her. Maybe he was.

Hannah looked him up and down. “You didn’t know John Paul.”

“Well, not before,” Craig admitted. “It’s kind of a long story. But we write to each other. And I’ve visited him.”

“You’ve visited him?” Hannah asked, sitting up a little straighter and looking at him more attentively.

“Yeah. Only once so far. But I’ll be going again before too long, hopefully.”

Hannah nodded. “How is he?”

Craig gave a shrug. “Okay. He’s getting by. I think he’s making the best of it that he can, y’know. Keeps his spirits up as much as possible.” Hannah bowed her head down, looking sad. “I thought you wrote to him.”

“I do,” Hannah replied. “Every week. I don’t think he tells me the truth. I keep writing anyway, letting him pretend.”

“You’ve never visited, though, have you?” Craig asked. Hannah simply shook her head. “Why not?”

“My parents wouldn’t let me,” Hannah explained, still not looking at Craig. “I’m the only girl and they’re dead protective. Rhys and Josh can do what they like, but not little old Hannah. No, keep her wrapped up in cotton wool. I mean, I know what the verdict was and everything, but that’s not John Paul. Not really. They knew him. They should’ve known better.”

Craig fidgeted with his beer can. He felt bad for her, even though he remembered Carmel’s words, remembered what she’d said about Hannah. He was starting to see that things were never as straightforward as they looked.

“Couldn’t you have gone anyway?” Craig asked. “Couldn’t you go now? You wouldn’t have to tell them.”

Hannah sighed and finally looked up at Craig. “I’m too scared,” she admitted. “And I know that makes me the worst friend in the world, but it’s true.”

“I was kind of scared too,” Craig replied. “Just the thought of going there... It’s not the most welcoming of places, but, once you get in, it’s actually not that bad. Not like the horror stories you might imagine.”

“I’m not scared of the prison, Craig,” Hannah told him. “I’m scared of seeing John Paul in there. He was really clever, he had loads of potential, and he was so talented. You should’ve heard him DJ, he was brilliant. And when he was happy, his eyes used to shine, really shine. And I don’t think I could go there and see them looking dull. I don’t think I could take seeing him giving up, seeing it all stripped away. I know that’s selfish, but I just can’t do it. It’d break my heart. So I write him letters, and I pretend that his eyes still shine. And he writes me back and he pretends they do too. So we just lie to each other really. But I like to think I give him a little comfort too. Maybe I’m being daft, I don’t know, but he’s still my friend. I miss him. We were supposed to be doing this together.”

Craig looked down. He wondered, not for the first time, which version of John Paul he knew. Did his eyes shine? Craig wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to agree with the notion of John Paul having given up, but there was a certain resignation in him that was so close to surrender. And yet he carried on. He kept going. Surely that was the opposite of giving up.

“You should visit,” Craig said. “I bet he’d like to see you. He’s being really brave. He could do with the support.”

“I couldn’t,” Hannah said, the look in her eyes all guilt and apology and a pleading that Craig not make her explain any further. Craig gave a nod, dropping the subject. “You think you’re going to go again though?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah,” Craig replied. “Yeah, as soon as I can.”

“Tell him I said ‘hi’,” she said with a small smile.

Craig nodded his head. “Okay.”

“You are taking all of the fun out of this!” Zak complained, raising his voice and cutting into Craig’s thoughts.

“All I’m saying is that driving into a wall at that speed would do far more damage to a car than that,” Elliot stated.

“Maybe if you’d shut up I wouldn’t be driving into a wall,” Zak stated. “Oi, Craig, you gonna come join me or what? Back me up here, mate.”

Craig’s phone rang in his pocket again. He took it out. Steph. He knew that he had to face this sooner or later, and he had to get home to finish his essay anyway. He cancelled the call, but headed over to pick up his bag.

“I’m gonna have to get off, actually,” he said. “I’ve got some stuff to sort out. Maybe another time.”

“That’s your catchphrase, that is,” Zak said, sounding unimpressed. “Was just about to change my mind about you as well.”

Craig wanted to stay, just to prove him wrong. He didn’t enjoy being the loser who ran out on all the fun. But he didn’t want to stick around either. He wanted to go and clear the air with Steph so that he’d have one less thing to worry about. He was used to not having friends. He wasn’t used to not having a sister he could talk to. Maybe it was just one more thing he was giving up on after all, but with so many things uncertain in his life, Craig had to side with familiarity.

“I’ll see you on Saturday for that kickaround, yeah?” he said hopefully, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’ll see you there,” Zak agreed distractedly, already concentrating on his game again. Craig gave a nod and headed for the door.

*

Steph stood up as he came into the flat, her hands clasped together as she watched him. “Hi,” she offered.

“Hi,” he replied, not looking at her as he put his bag down.

“There something wrong with your phone?” she asked, her tone suggesting she was trying to break the tension.

“No,” he responded.

“Oh,” Steph said awkwardly. “Right.”

They shared expectant looks, both waiting for the other to start. The silence was strained and uncomfortable and Craig could barely stand it.

“I know what you must think of me,” Steph said finally.

“Do you?” Craig responded, moving further into the room.

“You want to call me some names and make it really clear?” Steph asked defensively. “Is that it?”

Craig gave her a look. “You’re married.”

Steph looked down, probably to hide her reaction. “I’m not very married anymore, am I?”

“You wear his ring, Steph,” Craig stated. “You use his name.”

Steph touched the wedding band on her finger. “Do you think I need you to remind me of that? Do you think I don’t carry enough guilt around as it is?”

Craig could hear the tears threatening her voice. “Steph...”

“I’m sorry I’m not as good a person as I probably should be,” she said. “I know Max would be disappointed.”

“No he wouldn’t,” Craig insisted, his heart aching to comfort her. “Don’t be daft, that’s not what I meant. It’s just... Why does it have to be Niall?”

“Niall’s not that bad,” Steph said.

“He killed your husband,” Craig said bluntly.

Steph gave him a dirty look. “Craig, that was an accident.”

“He still killed him,” Craig said. “I don’t know how you can bear to touch him.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to judge right now,” Steph told him.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Craig asked.

“Because your best friend is a convicted murderer,” Steph stated.

Craig felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He sat heavily on the sofa, letting the words sink in. He hated hearing Steph talk about John Paul like that, especially with such spite in her voice. He knew that none of it was really directed at John Paul, the tone was meant only for Craig, but it still stung in a way Steph hadn’t intended. He rubbed his hands over his face and wondered why it hurt so much.

“I’m sorry,” Steph said, sitting down beside him. “That was out of line.”

“It’s true,” Craig said with a shrug.

“I didn’t...” She stopped clearly not sure what to say. “You don’t think he meant to do it, do you?”

“He didn’t,” Craig insisted, even though he’d never asked and he had no fact to back that assertion up with.

“Niall didn’t mean to do it either,” Steph said gently.

Craig hated hearing Niall compared to John Paul like that. The situations were nothing alike. Maybe they’d both ended up killing people in moments they’d live to regret, but the motivations and consequences were worlds apart. John Paul had been protecting his sister and acted out of necessity. Niall had been drowning his sorrows and acted out of carelessness. They were nothing alike.

But Craig could see why Steph might need some comfort now, and he could see why Niall might have been able to give it. Before he became the man who ended her marriage, he was her ex. That meant he was familiar. Sometimes familiar was nice and safe. Not that Craig trusted Niall. If he was honest, the guy gave him the creeps. But this was the path that Steph was taking, and so Craig would keep his concerns to himself.

“I have an essay to finish,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Are we okay?” Steph asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Craig assured her. “I’m not going to fall out with you just because you have bad taste in men.”

He realised too late that he was echoing John Paul’s words, and it sent a chill through him. That was how he’d described events leading up to Jimmy’s death; Carmel had bad taste in men.

“I don’t think you have bad taste in friends,” Steph said in way of a peace offering.

“Thanks,” he said. Steph shrugged. “I really do have an essay to finish.”

“Right, okay, I’ll let you go then,” Steph said. “I have to pick Tom up from school soon anyway.”

Craig gave a nod. “I’ll see you later then.”

As he closed his bedroom door behind himself, he gave a sigh of relief. He hated falling out with Steph. He hated falling out with anyone. Conflict ate away at him until it itched at his skin and made him want to punch a wall. He’d never been any good when things got out of control. In the past, he’d agreed to truces he didn’t believe in, just to get rid of animosity and make things easy again. He told himself that wasn’t what he was doing now. He told himself that he wasn’t a coward who always took the easy way out.

He sat down at his desk and reached into his bag, determined to get this essay finished and out of his way. Instead of his course notes though, his hand found his copy of _The Shawshank Redemption._ He pulled it out and looked it over, his eyes falling on the piece of paper he used as a bookmark. It was nearly at the end now.

He stood up from the desk and went to sprawl comfortably on his bed instead. The essay needed finishing, but escapism seemed so much more appealing right now. He didn’t want to think about Steph. He didn’t want to think about his mum. He didn’t want to think about his friends, or his lack of closeness to them. He didn’t even want to think about uni, the one thing he was usually more than willing to throw himself into. All of it just reminded him of things that were lacking in his life. He didn’t know what he was doing or where he was heading, and it terrified him. After the day he’d had, it wasn’t something that he could bear to think about.

And so he lay back against his pillows, he got himself comfortable, and he opened up his book, giving in to escapism and looking forward to being able to tell John Paul that he’d finally caught up with him and finished the book.


	6. Chapter 6

_Craig_

 _I was going to ask before I went ahead and sent this, but I have a window coming up and I didn’t want to let it pass by, so I’m sending the visiting order now. Honestly, organising my lot is like trying to plan a military campaign. If you don’t want it, just let me know, or make up a lame excuse, and I’ll let you off the hook and hand one over to our Michaela instead. She’s not allowed to visit very often because my mum says she’s too young. The ironic thing is, when it was Jacqui who was in here, she said I was too young. Probably still would. Funny how things work out._

 _And thanks for the book. I’ve started reading it. It’s interesting. I don’t really want to tell you what to buy though. If I gave you any clues it would take a lot of the fun out of it for me. I kind of love the idea of you aimlessly wandering around book shops, making a nuisance of yourself. And like I said last time you were here, I love not knowing what’s coming next. So just keep surprising me. I like when people pleasantly surprise you._

 _You sound like someone to keep an eye on actually. Money making schemes, ay? My family’s had a fair few of them. They were usually illegal and never really panned out though. Hope yours were a little more successful. Seriously though, you sound smart, like you’ve got your head in the right place. Ambition is good and you need to follow your drive. Don’t get stuck in a rut._

 _I’ll let you in on a secret actually. I didn’t really want to go to HCC either. But it was close to home and it wouldn’t cost my mum as much money. She couldn’t really afford anything else, even though she always said she didn’t mind if I set my sights a little higher. She always said she’d work out the difference somehow. I couldn’t have done it to her though. With six kids, I think she had enough outgoings as it was. Not that it really matters anymore. At least I’m not costing her anything in here._

 _And the theology, yeah, it’s really interesting, but it can be a lot to get your head around sometimes. I was brought up Catholic, and even though I’m a long way from practicing anymore, that thinky ‘what are we doing here?’ stuff is kind of interesting to me at the moment. And, I’ll be honest, some of it goes right over my head too. There’s some statements I’ve had to read three times before they even started to make sense. It certainly is distracting if nothing else though._

 _Right, well, let me know about that visiting order as soon as you can, yeah? I’ll talk to you later._

 _John Paul_

*  
Craig had his mum’s schedule at Evissa memorised, which made it easier to avoid her, and easier to see Carmel without running into her. The risk was still the lesser of two evils. He was nowhere near ready to go calling at the McQueen house to see Carmel.

The door chimed as he came through, his senses bombarded with feminine scents and soft music that made him feel completely out of his depth. Carmel was working on someone’s nails, chatting away as she worked, but she looked up and gave Craig a smile as he let the door swing shut behind him.

“Oh, hiya,” she said. “You here to see me?”

“Just wanted to ask you something,” Craig replied. “But I can see you’re busy. I can come back later.” He made a move back towards the door.

“No, stay, take a seat,” Carmel insisted. “I’m nearly done, I won’t be much longer.”

Craig wanted to make an excuse, but Carmel had already turned her attention back to her customer. It was funny how she could be so forceful while still being sweet as sugar. Craig bet she always got what she wanted.

“Okay,” he said weakly, sitting down in a seat by the window and watching the village through the blinds. If he couldn’t stand up to Carmel, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t stand a chance against any of the other McQueens. It was something he’d been thinking about more and more often lately.

Carmel was true to her word and finished up with the client, chatting amiably as she took the woman’s money and booked her in for another appointment. She waved her off and then sat down in the seat beside Craig as that bell above the door signified their being alone.

“You alright?” Carmel asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Craig replied. “I just... I just wondered if you’d spoken to John Paul lately?”

“Was talkin’ to him last night, actually,” Carmel replied. “Said he sent you a visitin’ order. That what you’re here about?”

“Yeah,” Craig nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you again?” Carmel offered.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Craig assured her. “I can get there on my own. I was just wondering if you’d told anyone yet?”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Carmel said, answering his question without actually having to answer it. “None of ‘em have said owt to you, have they?”

“No,” Craig admitted. “The couple of times that I’ve seen your mum she’s looked at me like she really wanted to say something. And one time Michaela just kind of laughed as she walked past me.”

Carmel rolled her eyes. “That’s our Michaela’s idea of attitude. Ignore her. And my mum, well, she’s just curious. Can’t blame her. She wouldn’t be owt but nice to you though. I think she’s just waiting for an excuse to invite you into the family.”

“What?” Craig asked, feeling the now familiar sense of being cornered. Everything always seemed so out of his control.

“She likes adopting people, my mum,” Carmel said, like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. “And she thinks it’s lovely what you’re doing. Asked me loads of questions about you. I mean, she’s obviously a little bit wary, but if John Paul trusts you, she kind of can’t help it. He always had the best judgement of the lot of us.”

“Really?” Craig asked, not quite meaning to ask the question out loud. He couldn’t quite equate good judgement with being thrown in prison for life.

“Oh, yeah,” Carmel said. “Right good judge of character, our John Paul is. Soon as I introduced him to Jimmy he told me he had a bad feeling about him.”

Craig couldn’t help but scathingly think that, if Carmel had bothered to listen, none of them would be in this mess right now. John Paul would be finishing up his first year at HCC, and maybe he and Craig would have met there. Maybe they’d be regular friends. But Craig didn’t really have any friends. If John Paul wasn’t behind bars and practically untouchable to the outside world, Craig would probably be even lonelier. The irony of that made him feel like giving up altogether.

“You going to see him on Saturday, then?” Carmel asked.

Craig looked at her, shaking himself out of his melancholy thoughts. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, same as last time.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything else before you go,” Carmel said. “And say ‘hi’ from me while you’re there.”

“Yeah, I will,” Craig promised. “Thank you.”

“Any friend of John Paul’s is a friend of mine,” Carmel told him.

Craig smiled. He liked being described as John Paul’s friend. It made him feel strangely warm and proud, forgetting the reservations that had made him come and see Carmel in the first place. He got to his feet.

“Let me know how it goes,” Carmel said.

Craig nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

*

It felt strange taking the train on his own. He’d only been once with Carmel, but she’d become such a big part of his friendship with John Paul that Craig felt kind of like she should be there. He’d tried distancing himself from her a little after she’d gone and told apparently everyone she knew that Craig was John Paul’s new best friend, but she was too sweet to hold a grudge against and too good a rock for Craig not to lean against her every once in a while. He wasn’t quite sure what he would have done without her through all this.

Still, he knew that going on his own was the right thing to do. It wasn’t fair to expect her to hold his hand all the time, and he shouldn’t need her to anyway. He wanted to do this on his own. He wanted it to be just him and John Paul.

He used the time on the train to finally finish reading the last part of _Shawshank_ and, by the time he got there, he was feeling quite proud of himself. He felt productive for once. Lately he’d been feeling a little useless, in all aspects of his life. An apathetic ‘what’s the point?’ attitude had settled over practically everything he did. Reading _Shawshank_ served a purpose. Going to visit John Paul served a purpose. He wasn’t sure that anything else was quite as worthwhile as those two pursuits.

At the prison, he ran Carmel’s instructions through his head, taking it a stage at a time, just like she’d taken him through it. The parts were often a lot less scary than the whole. By the time he was getting searched, he just went through the motions and did as they said, ignoring his sweaty palms. As they finally let him past, he stepped into the visiting hall, the quiet chatter and the people making him feel uneasy, even though he’d known what to expect this time. He hated that these were the people John Paul spent all his days with. Craig didn’t trust a single one of them.

As their eyes met, John Paul smiled, and his face seemed to light up with it. Craig smiled back, but he was looking at John Paul’s eyes now. He wanted to see if they were shining. Somehow, he couldn’t quite tell. He didn’t know what he was looking for.

“Hi,” John Paul greeted as Craig sat down opposite him. “Glad you could come.”

“Yeah, no, I’m glad you asked,” Craig said, shifting in his seat slightly. “I wanted to see you again.”

“Didn’t scare you off too much the first time then?” John Paul teased.

“I don’t scare easy,” Craig told him. The words were somehow said with far more conviction than Craig thought they deserved. “So, you want a drink?”

John Paul nodded. “Coffee. Thanks.”

“Milk, no sugar, yeah?” Craig asked, getting to his feet. John Paul smiled at him.

“You’re getting good at this.”

Craig smiled back, heading over to the vending machines as he dug in his pocket for the right change. He felt so much more comfortable in this place now, even if he’d still rather be spending time with John Paul anywhere but here. Getting over the unknown had been the biggest hurdle though, and this place was no longer unknown to him, and neither was John Paul. Both were starting to become familiar.

“One of the good things about being in here is that, when I have visitors, I never have to put my hand in my pocket,” John Paul said as Craig put the coffee down in front of him. “Thank you.”

“That’s okay,” Craig told him. “I’m sure we can find a way for you to reimburse me.”

“That right?” John Paul asked, raising his eyebrows and giving Craig a look that could almost be flirtatious. Craig shrugged it off. Who was he to read signs? “So, you drag my sister along with you?” John Paul asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“No, came on my own,” Craig told him. “Finished reading _Shawshank_ on the train.”

“Oh, yeah?” John Paul asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Craig nodded. “Then I had a sandwich.”

John Paul looked a little confused. “In celebration?”

“No,” Craig said. “I was hungry. Jam sandwich. My sister made it for me. She doesn’t have a packed lunch to do on Saturdays, so I think she was at a loose end.”

John Paul nodded, staring at him in a curious way. “I have never met anyone quite like you.”

“What do you mean?” Craig asked, feeling self-conscious.

“The way you talk,” John Paul said. “It’s like... There’s no narrative. It’s all just stream of consciousness. Having a conversation with you is like trying to read a James Joyce book.”

“James Joyce?” Craig asked, grabbing hold of the reference. “Do you like James Joyce?”

John Paul gave a small laugh and crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a defiant child. “I’m not giving you any clues.”

“Why not?”

“I told you why not,” John Paul responded. “It’s fun seeing what you’re gonna send next. I like it.” He leant against the table again. “Only, don’t send me James Joyce. I tried reading some when I was doing my A-Levels. Did my head in.”

“What’s your favourite book?” Craig asked.

John Paul smirked. “Not telling.”

“Have I sent it yet?” Craig asked. John Paul shook his head. “Well, tell me and I can send it.”

“Our Tina already sent me that one,” John Paul replied. “She’s never without her favourite book, so she figured I’d appreciate it. Was the only one I had until you started sending them.”

“Oh,” Craig replied, feeling like he’d been beaten. He drank some of his coffee as an idea came to him. He smiled. “I’m going to send you nothing but James Joyce books until you tell me what else to send you.”

“I’ll tell you what else to send me,” John Paul said. “ _Anything_ but James Joyce.”

Craig shook his head. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that, I’m afraid.”

John Paul gave him a look. “Think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Craig shrugged, looking innocent as he sipped his coffee. “Do you even know who James Joyce is?”

“I’m not completely illiterate,” Craig complained. “Besides, I’m sure I could use the alphabetised system to find his books.”

“Suppose that means you know the alphabet at least,” John Paul commented. “I guess that’s something.”

“Oi,” Craig said indignantly. When John Paul smiled at him, he couldn’t resist smiling back.

“So, seriously, what did you think of _Shawshank_?” John Paul asked. “You like it?”

“I thought the end was lame,” Craig responded.

John Paul looked amused. “Lame?”

“ _‘I hope’_?” Craig quoted. “What kind of an ending is that? It doesn’t even tell you if Red ever finds Andy or not.”

John Paul smiled. “You like it all laid out for you on a plate, don’t you?”

“It just drives me mad when they end stuff like that,” Craig responded. “Can’t they be bothered to write a real ending?”

“It’s about hope, Craig,” John Paul said. “The whole book’s about hope. There are no neat endings in life. It’s up to you to have enough faith to believe. Red still hopes. That’s as good an ending as him meeting up with Andy.”

“Hope?” Craig asked. The word troubled him. He remembered all of the thoughts that went through his head as he read the book, remembered how reading about life imprisonment had made him feel. He hadn’t seen any hope in the situation, but clearly, somewhere, John Paul had.

“Anyway, if it bothers you that much, there’s an extra scene in the film,” John Paul told him. “It ends after ‘I hope’.”

“Yeah?” Craig asked, looking up at him. John Paul nodded.

“Watch it,” he said. “I think you’ll like it. You sound like someone who appreciates a good Hollywood ending.”

“I’m not a romantic or anything,” Craig told him. “I’m a realist.”

“Pity,” John Paul responded. “There’s a lot to be said for being a romantic.”

“You’re a romantic?” Craig asked.

“Oh, I’m dead soft,” John Paul responded. “Ask any of my sisters. I’m the ‘sensitive’ one.”

“Girls love that kind of stuff don’t they?” Craig commented.

“Girls?” John Paul asked. He gave a shrug. “Wouldn’t really know.”

“Oh, hey, I was talking to Hannah the other day,” Craig told him.

John Paul looked at him. “Hannah? My Hannah?”

Craig nodded. “She says ‘hi’.”

John Paul smiled in a strange way, halfway between touched and confused. “Yeah?”

“She seems nice,” Craig said. “Spoke very highly of you.”

“Yeah, she never was the brightest girl,” John Paul said in an adorably self-deprecating fashion. “I didn’t know you knew Hannah.”

“Well, only a bit,” Craig admitted. “We’ve got some friends in common.”

“You know this Elliot then?” John Paul asked. “The one she’s dating?”

“Yeah, I know Elliot,” Craig told him, even though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d ever had a conversation with the bloke.

“He good enough for her?” John Paul asked.

Craig couldn’t help but smile. He loved the way that John Paul was so protective of everyone he cared about, even if he was in no position to help them anymore. He got the impression that John Paul had always been forced into the role of man of the house, and he found it impossible to leave it behind him.

“He’s a total gentleman,” Craig assured him. “Honestly, he’d never step out of line with her. She’s safe with him.”

John Paul smiled. “Good. That’s what she said. Just wanted to make sure.”

“It’s sweet that you worry about her,” Craig said, realising too late how horribly condescending that sounded. “Did you and her ever, y’know, have a thing?”

“No,” John Paul said. “Well, actually, we did kiss once,” he admitted. “Only once. I’ve never told anyone that before. I’m sure she has. But nothing else ever happened. We never went on a date or anything. She wasn’t my type.”

“Probably less complicated that way,” Craig commented.

“Definitely,” John Paul agreed.

They both sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments and Craig realised that he was enjoying their conversation. It seemed like forever since he’d had anyone he could talk to about girls and footie and lad’s stuff.

“You got a girlfriend?” John Paul asked.

“Not at the moment,” Craig replied. “Not for a while actually. I don’t seem to have much luck with girls.”

“They like confidence,” John Paul told him.

“I have confidence,” Craig stated, finding himself slightly affronted by the comment.

“I didn’t mean...” John Paul trailed off, looking away. “Never mind.”

“No, I know what you meant,” Craig assured him, trying to pull him back in. “I’m a rambling idiot who talks like a James Joyce novel.”

John Paul smiled, looking at him again, and Craig looked into his eyes. He wanted to see that shine, or at least some hint of it. All he saw was pale blue, warm with unexpelled laughter. Craig didn’t know if that was a shine or not. He found himself drawn in anyway, even as the smile faded from John Paul’s lips and he just looked curious. Then John Paul looked away quickly, seeming almost spooked, and Craig realised he’d been staring like a right weirdo.

“Some girls like rambling idiots,” John Paul said awkwardly, not quite looking at Craig. “So I hear.”

“Yeah?” Craig asked.

“I’ve never met any, but...” He gave a shrug and a half-smile, before finally meeting Craig’s eyes again. “But, when you’re a rich and successful businessman, you can get a convertible, and girl’s definitely like convertibles.”

“Well, I suppose there’s that to look forward to,” Craig quipped.

John Paul looked down at the table. His thoughts seemed a long way away, and Craig wanted to ask what he was thinking, but he didn’t want to interrupt. There was something about the look on his face that told Craig not to disturb him. He was struck with the urge to touch him, to reach out and draw him back into the conversation somehow. He felt like he’d said something wrong, something that had made John Paul withdraw, but he didn’t know what it was.

He ran the last few exchanges through in his head and, as it dawned on him, he felt like a stupid, insensitive bastard. He’d been talking to John Paul like they were just two lads, and he’d actually prided himself on the normalcy of the conversation, like it was some great feat to not treat John Paul like a convict. What he didn’t realise as he went on about girls and things to look forward to was that John Paul didn’t have any of it to look forward. John Paul had been with all the girls he was ever going to be with. He was 19 and he would never feel something as simple as intimacy again. The thought riled up something like despair in Craig. He couldn’t believe that it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

And yet here he was, going on about being crap with girls when he could try it on with anyone he liked, whenever he liked. He could go out tonight, have some beers, and scout for girls. Maybe even go home with one and have a shag if he really wanted. It was a possibility. For John Paul it was just another thing to miss out on. Craig couldn’t believe that he’d actually been rubbing his face in it by asking for advice.

“You fancy anyone at uni?” John Paul asked suddenly, breaking into the silence that had fallen between them.

“No,” Craig said, answering the question without even really thinking about it. He wanted to change the subject. “So, what’s this course all about?” he asked. “You enjoying it?”

“The theology?” John Paul responded, seeming slightly thrown. “Yeah, it’s alright. How’s your course? No offence, but business doesn’t strike me as bein’ that inspiring.”

“It’s not,” Craig replied. “But it’s what I want to do. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

John Paul nodded. “You planning on getting out of Hollyoaks the first chance you get then?”

Craig felt like John Paul was testing the water, trying to gage whether he was sticking around or not, and maybe whether he was worth investing in as a friend. Craig considered himself already invested, and so the thought made him uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I would’ve done, once. Would’ve jumped at the chance to get out of here. But things have changed. Living with Steph, that’s my sister, it’s kind of given me a different perspective. Me, her and Tom, we’re like team.”

“Must be nice,” John Paul said. “Don’t let it hold you back though.”

“You sound like my mother,” Craig groaned.

“Sorry,” John Paul said, a tiny nervous smile playing over his lips as his eyes fell away. “Just, don’t let it turn to resentment is all. Nobody likes an obligation.”

Craig was reminded of the first letter he’d received from John Paul, the one where he’d worried about being a burden to his family. He wondered if he worried about being a burden to Craig too. It made Craig feel ill, made something twist in his gut, because it couldn’t be further from the truth. He looked forward to every letter from John Paul. He wished that there were a way he could visit more. He just wasn’t sure how to say any of that, how to find the words to reassure him. Ironically, considering how they’d met, words had never been Craig’s strong point.

John Paul’s right hand was flat on the table between them, his fingers restlessly tapping out a rhythm that Craig found himself watching. It was slow, barely there really, and Craig wasn’t sure if he even knew he was doing it. It seemed like such a sad little motion and it made Craig ache even more. It seemed like something a kid would do.

Craig reached out before he even knew what he was doing, laying his fingers on top of John Paul’s. He wanted to say something, but he lacked the words to say it. This seemed like the next best thing. A way to show that he was there and present and cared.

John Paul looked up at him and his whole body seemed to retract as he slid his hand from under Craig’s, their skin sliding together in that brief moment. Craig watched as John Paul’s jaw clenched and his eyes quickly looked around to the nearest tables, checking if anyone had seen. He sat back in his chair, making Craig feel like there were miles between them.

“Sorry,” Craig offered.

“No, it’s...” John Paul shook his head and looked down at his hand, as though he could see Craig’s departed touch. His eyes filled with something like sadness. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since anyone’s touched me like they weren’t...” He trailed off and Craig wasn’t quite sure what the end of that sentence was, but it broke his heart anyway. John Paul crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in a little, bridging the gap some.

A silence fell between them, one loaded with all the things that neither of them were saying. They’d been having fun. They’d been having a normal blokey chat, and Craig had felt, for the first time in ages, that he was just having a chat with a mate. And then somehow they’d gotten here. Craig was filled with empathy that he was so desperately trying to distinguish from pity, and John Paul was wondering why the hell Craig was touching him as he contemplated the sad state of his life. Craig was wondering why he was touching him too. In the moment, it was the only way he could think to reach out.

He wanted the matey banter back. He wanted to put John Paul at ease again and make him laugh. He wanted to be a welcome distraction, something good in John Paul’s life, not another thing that led to regrets and reminders of what he was missing.

“You want something to eat?” he offered.

John Paul looked up at him and then looked over at the vending machines. “No, ta. My mum’s always bringing comfort food stuff in for me. I think she’s tryin’ to fatten me up or summat. You and Jacqui are the only ones who send me anything useful.”

“What does Jacqui send?” Craig asked.

“Cigarettes,” John Paul replied. “I don’t smoke,” he added quickly. “They’re just useful to have. Like currency in this place. She knows all the tricks.”

For some reason that made Craig smile, the fact that John Paul had someone looking out for him instead of the other way around for once.

“My mum doesn’t really have a clue though,” John Paul continued. “I know she’s only trying to help, but if I ate everything she sent me, I’d have to spend twice as much time in the gym, I think.”

“Play footie as well, don’t you?” Craig said.

John Paul nodded. “Yeah.”

“You any good?”

“Alright, I suppose,” John Paul shrugged. “Used to be on the school team.”

“I used to be on the school team,” Craig said, a little too excitedly. John Paul smiled at him. “Not at the same time as you though, clearly.”

“No,” John Paul agreed. “Our team was pretty shite though, so I’m not sure how highly that speaks of my football skills. You play at HCC?”

“No,” Craig replied.

“Didn’t make the team?”

“Never tried out,” Craig responded. “Was thinking of getting back into it though.”

“You should,” John Paul told him. “It’s good to have something to blow off a little steam.”

“It’s gotta be better than getting beaten by my 8-year-old nephew at video games,” Craig responded. “It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

“You need some friends your own age,” John Paul told him.

“Tell me about it,” Craig responded with a smile. “Hey, you ever do fantasy football?”

“Yeah,” John Paul replied. “Me and Carmel do it every year.”

“Carmel?” Craig asked, surprised. “She knows about football?”

“Kind of,” John Paul shrugged, leaning against the table again now, and Craig could see him loosening up. “Mostly she just picks the players she thinks are fit.”

“Right,” Craig nodded. That sounded more like the Carmel he knew. “You thought about your team for next season yet?”

John Paul smiled as he started talking about strikers and midfielders, and Craig smiled with him, the conversation turning back to one he might have down the pub with a mate. As they chatted about their possible teams, the tension seemed to dissipate and things settled back into the matey joking that they’d started out with. The type that had been missing from Craig’s life lately, and probably from John Paul’s too.

Still, Craig couldn’t help but note how fragile everything with John Paul was, how quickly the tone could change and they’d be left to face up to what they were really up against. If Craig thought about it too much, he’d probably run out on John Paul now. Except that he couldn’t. Because John Paul was a mate. Because Craig had this clawing need to make things better for him, whatever the cost. He knew it wasn’t smart, but he knew he couldn’t fight it either.

Sometimes it hurt, thinking of what John Paul was going through, what he was up against. When he thought of the person Hannah had described to him, the boy with the potential and the shining eyes, Craig felt something close to hopelessness. John Paul had lost so much, would miss out on so much, because of one night, one mistake. Craig wasn’t quite sure how to be close to someone like that without letting it drag him down too. But he was willing to try. He had no choice but to try. For moments like this, it all seemed worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

_John Paul_

 _It was nice to see you the other day. I had a good time. I know that it can’t always be easy in there, and, I’ll be honest with you, it weighs on my mind from time to time, but seeing you smile can actually be a big help. Like things aren’t as bad as they could be._

Craig screwed up the note and threw it across the room in frustration. That was definitely not what John Paul needed to hear right now. He didn’t need a reminder of how bad things were for him, and he definitely didn’t need Craig’s selfish rambling about how it was easier on him if John Paul smiled when he visited. The last thing he wanted to do was give any leverage to John Paul’s belief that he was a burden or that visiting him was a hardship. It couldn’t be further from the truth. He turned his attention to a fresh piece of paper.

 _John Paul_

 _It was nice catching up with you on Saturday. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent conversation about football. I should imagine you’re the same, surrounded by all those women all the time. It’s nice just to have a lad’s chat sometimes. I appreciated it. But, I dunno, I suppose there’s a lot of men in there. Maybe you get to have lad’s chats all the time._

Craig cringed, thinking about John Paul having friends in there, laughing and joking with criminals. It terrified Craig if he was honest. He didn’t think he’d last two minutes in that place. He’d never been able to hold his own in a fight, let alone against people who were actually dangerous. He doubted that fights in there were anything like in the schoolyard.

He sighed, trying to push the thoughts away. All he was trying to do was write a letter to John Paul, but it was so hard. His mind kept going to unpleasant places, worst case scenarios. He hadn’t been prepared for this. There was no way around it, he was in over his head. He’d wanted to be a mate to John Paul, but he hadn’t considered the complications. He hadn’t realised how bad he’d feel seeing John Paul in that position. It was tearing him apart, and he barely even knew the guy really. It was all just too much for him to get his head around.

He tore the half-written letter from his pad and tossed it aside, staring at the blank page beneath. He’d never struggled with writing to John Paul before, not like this. Something had changed. Something had shifted and Craig just felt so helpless. There was only so much he’d ever be able to do for John Paul, in the great scheme of things, and none of it seemed like enough.

 _John Paul_

 _I want to help. Tell me how._

That was the letter that he wanted to write, but the one he knew he’d never be able to send. He had to be the strong one. He had to find the answer on his own. He had to let John Paul believe that this was all easy and carefree for him, or the guilt would probably make him cut Craig out altogether.

Craig threw his pen down onto his desk with an agitated sigh and put his head in his hands, rubbing over his tired eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. He hadn’t been doing much of anything. He stood up, grabbing his coat as he headed for the door.

As he pushed his was into Evissa, a little too urgently, he practically ran straight into his mum, stopping short and staring at her. He felt like turning around and going back out.

“Oh, hello, love,” Frankie greeted. She took in his slightly flustered state. “You alright?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Craig stated.

“Yes,” Frankie agreed, looking at him strangely.

“You don’t work Tuesdays,” Craig said.

“Not usually, but Carmel asked if I’d swap with her,” Frankie replied.

“Well, where is she?” Craig demanded.

Frankie stared at him for a moment, surprised by his outburst. “I don’t know. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Forget it,” Craig responded distractedly, turning and walking out without another word.

“Craig,” he heard Frankie calling, her voice full of concern, but he let the door swing shut behind him.

*

He stood on the pavement outside the McQueen’s garden, like stepping onto their property would cause some irrevocable change that he could never take back. He looked at the path that led to the front door and then turned away, looking up the road. There were some kids playing football in the street, yelling at each other and not caring that a car could come around the corner at any minute. There was something slightly depressing about the whole thing. The estate was so bland, so lacking in money and prospects. It kind of reminded Craig of that prison visiting room.

He wasn’t a snob, he was hardly brought up in the lap of luxury himself, but his family had always had ambition, drive. They’d always wanted out. And maybe it was just luck that had kept Craig out of the Valley of the Chavs in reality, he knew how close they came after his dad left, but Craig couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t fit here. Not that he could really say with any certainty that he fit anywhere lately.

He took a breath and forced his attention back to the house, marching up the path and throwing himself in head first. He stepped into the porch and knocked on the door before he could change his mind. His stomach rolled with nerves as he waited for someone to open the door. He prayed that it would be Carmel. He didn’t want to have to deal with anyone else.

After a few moments, the door swung open and Craig found himself looking at Michaela. His heart sank. She looked him up and down, something like a sneer on her face.

“It’s just the prison groupie,” she called over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off Craig.

“You what?” Myra called back.

“Is Carmel in?” Craig asked hopefully.

“You know what I can’t work out, right?” Michaela said, completely ignoring his question. “Whose knickers are you trying to get into? Is it our Carmel or our John Paul?”

“What?” Craig asked. He knew she was just a kid, and was undoubtedly just trying to wind him up, but he felt himself blush at the question anyway.

“You, inside, now,” Myra said firmly, her voice so commanding that Craig was tempted to obey. It took him a second to realise she was actually talking to Michaela, who just rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way. Myra smiled kindly at him. “Hiya, love. Come in.”

“I was just after Carmel,” Craig said helplessly as he found himself ushered inside the house.

“I’ll just stick the kettle on,” Myra said, heading into the kitchen.

Craig wanted to object, but he couldn’t find the words, so he just stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. He was definitely useless when it came to standing up to McQueens. Michaela leaned against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, watching him in that critical way that made him feel about two inches tall.

“Do you want a chocolate biccy?” Myra offered, coming in with a plate.

“Ooh, splashing out, aren’t you?” Michaela commented.

“Don’t you have your room to tidy?” Myra said pointedly.

“I’m not a kid,” Michaela said. “You can’t tell me what to do.” Myra gave her a hard look and Michaela gave a little huff. “Fine,” she relented dramatically, stomping her way up the stairs.

“Chocolate biccy?” Myra said again, holding out the plate.

“Thanks,” Craig said, taking one, even though he didn’t really want it. He wasn’t sure how to refuse. “Is Carmel about then?”

“She’s gone shoppin’ with our Mercy,” Myra replied. “They’ll be gone hours, knowin’ them two. Sit down.”

Craig sat. “I can’t stay long,” he insisted. “I’ve got work to do for uni.”

“What was it you were studyin’ again?” Myra asked.

“Business,” Craig replied, wondering just how much she knew about him. He didn’t like the idea of having a conversation with somebody who already knew all his background info. He briefly contemplated the idea that John Paul had been talking about him, but he quickly dismissed the notion. It was much more likely to be Carmel.

“Business,” Myra repeated, sounding impressed. “Lot of money to be made in that, I should think.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” Craig agreed. “Depends what you get into, like anything.”

The kettle clicked off in the kitchen. “You want a cuppa?” Myra offered.

“I should get off really,” Craig said. “Just wanted to see if Carmel was about.”

“A quick one then,” Myra said decisively, heading off to the kitchen.

Craig sighed. He looked down at the biscuit in his hand, the chocolate starting to melt against his forefinger where he held it in a pincher grip. He really wasn’t hungry. He just wanted to go. Playing nice with John Paul’s mother while he felt like he was having some kind of breakdown wasn’t his idea of fun. He wanted to talk to Carmel about it. He felt like maybe she’d understand what he was going through with his worry for John Paul, or, if not, she’d at least be sweet enough to listen.

Suddenly, some loud music blasted out from upstairs, a banging beat thudding its way through the floor. Craig found himself looking up at the ceiling.

“She’s on those bloody decks again,” Myra said through gritted teeth as she came back through with two cups of tea. “John Paul’d ‘ave summat to say if he knew she was messin’ around on them. Doesn’t have a clue what she’s doin’. His pride and joy they were.” She sat down beside Craig on the sofa, handing him his drink.

“Thanks.”

“She’s probably scratched half his record collection beyond repair by now,” Myra continued. “Cost him a fortune, they did. He wouldn’t be impressed.”

Craig nodded and gave an awkward half-smile, placing the biscuit down on the edge of the table and sucking the melted chocolate off the end of his finger.

“She’s taken over his room,” Myra went on. “Wasn’t even hers to take. Both Tina and Carmel are older, they should be in line for their own room before her. But, to be honest, we’re a bit soft on her cos she’s the youngest. She’s never really had anything that was her own, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. He wasn’t sure how Myra’s treatment of Michaela that he’d been witness to could possibly be considered ‘soft’. He wondered how Myra spoke to the rest of her children.

“Anyway, let’s get back to you,” Myra said.

“Alright,” Craig said reluctantly.

“I think it’s lovely that our John Paul’s got you as a mate,” Myra stated, smiling at him. “He’s never had a lot of lads as friends. He was always hanging about with girls.”

“Yeah?” Craig asked, smiling at the thought of John Paul being some kind of ladies man.

“Mmm,” Myra agreed. “It was always Hannah and Sarah and Nancy. You’d think he’d have enough of girls living in this place. I remember when we had Father Kieron staying with us. John Paul was made up because he got to watch the football on the big TV down here. He’s never had a lot of male role models, John Paul. I sometimes wonder if I should’ve tried harder to have someone around for him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have taken on so much responsibility with our Carmel, and, well...”

Craig nodded, looking down into his tea. Everything with John Paul seemed to boil down to ‘what if?’ The more involved Craig got, the more he saw that it should never have been allowed to happen. There were a million things that should have prevented it, a million tiny moments when it could have been turned around, but no one ever put it together and looked at the big picture until it was too late. And now John Paul was left alone to suffer. He might have people around him, people like his mum and his sisters and Craig, but how much could they really help? He was still the one left to face up to the rest of his life in there.

Craig felt sick. He felt like crying. It simply didn’t bear thinking about. He put his tea down on the table, untouched like his biscuit. He wanted to run away. He wanted to hide, but he was supposed to be a grown-up now. He was too old to curl up under his bed and pretend the world couldn’t touch him.

“Are you alright?” Myra asked. “You’re looking a little peaky.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Craig insisted, rubbing a hand over his face. His skin felt clammy.

“Are you sure?” Myra asked, leaning in slightly and looking concerned. Her proximity was just making Craig feel suffocated. He shifted back slightly.

“I’m fine,” he said a little too harshly. He looked up into Myra’s kind eyes, instantly regretting it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you think I could get a glass of water or something?”

“Yeah, course,” Myra responded, getting to her feet. “Just wait here.”

Craig put his head in his hands, listening to Myra run the tap in the next room. He was being ridiculous. He didn’t even know what was wrong with him. He just felt so helpless and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“There you go, love,” Myra said.

Craig lifted his head, taking the glass that was offered out to him. He took sips of the cool liquid between deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. It was all just an over-reaction, his mind exaggerating everything until it became unbearable. Except that John Paul was real and so was everything he was going through. Did that make everything that Craig was going through on his behalf real too?

“That noise won’t be helpin’,” Myra said, walking to the bottom of the stairs. “Michaela, turn that racket off!” she yelled. “Not that she can hear me. Michaela!”

“It’s fine,” Craig insisted. “Don’t worry about it.”

Myra came back over, sitting down beside him. “Are you coming down with something?” she asked, trying to put a hand on his forehead. Craig moved away.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not that.”

“Well what is it?” Myra asked. “You’re gettin’ a bit of colour back, at least. Went white as a sheet.”

“It’s nothing,” Craig dismissed. “Well, it’s something.”

He put his glass down on the table and looked at Myra. She looked back expectantly. He shrugged, gesturing helplessly with his hands. He shouldn’t even be having this conversation with John Paul’s mother. He should be making his excuses and leaving. There was something strangely comforting about being in this house though, listening to John Paul’s music. Except for when he thought about the fact that John Paul should be here too.

“It’s just... it’s just hard sometimes,” he managed.

“What is?” Myra asked, looking at him in a concerned, motherly way that made him want to open up to her.

“It’s John Paul,” Craig said.

Myra frowned, worry tightening her features. “What about him?”

“No, nothing bad,” Craig assured her. “Well, it’s...” He looked down. He had no idea where he was going with this. “Sometimes, being his friend, well, it’s difficult. It’s like, when I was sending the books, it was fine, there were no expectations, I was just doing something nice. Then, when I sent the letter, it was scary, but, after all that time, it seemed kind of like a natural progression. Part of me was relieved to be able to tell him who I was, to find out who he was. But then, when he asked me to go visit him, that was terrifying. In the end, though, even that turned out alright. I mean, it was kind of awkward and nerve-wracking, but it was good. It went well. And now... Now he’s my friend. We’re mates. Only he’s stuck in there. And I can’t do anything about it. Mates help each other out, but I can’t do a thing about it. I can’t help him. No matter what I do, he’s going to be there, for one stupid mistake. And that doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t seem _right_. Because he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t. But what can I do? And it’s only going to get worse, isn’t it? The more I get to know him. The closer we get.” He looked up, meeting Myra’s eyes, troubled and full of heartbreak. And still she looked kind through it. She looked like she wanted to comfort him. “It just gets on top of me sometimes,” he finished. “I know I’m being daft, but it does. It can be hard. If you think about it too much.”

“If you think about it too much, it can be impossible,” Myra agreed. “That’s why you shouldn’t think about it.”

“What?” Craig asked, feeling thrown. It wasn’t the response he was expecting.

“Do you know how much I want to cry for him?” Myra asked. “I’d give anything to have him back home here with me, where he belongs. But he doesn’t want to appeal. And far be it from me to make him. Honestly, the day one of my kids listens to me...”

“I brought up appealing once,” Craig said. “Didn’t go down well. He just said that the trial was a nightmare and that he couldn’t do it again.”

Myra nodded. “That trial was hard on all of us. The things they brought up. The accusations they made, not just about him, but about our Carmel too. About all of us really. We’re not the kind of people who get the breaks in life. That courtroom was against us before we even started.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna give in?” Craig asked. “You’re just gonna let them win?”

“They’ve already won,” Myra said, a resignation in her voice that made Craig want to shake her.

“How can you just let him rot in there?” he demanded. “That’s the rest of his life.”

“Do you think I haven’t thought about that?” Myra asked. “Do you think I don’t think about it every second of every day? He’s my little boy. It tears me apart every time I have to walk away and leave him there. But he’s made his choice. And let me tell you something, us McQueens, we’re stubborn creatures. I have faith that he’ll come around one day. In the meantime, nagging’s just going to make him more determined. He’s got his head around stayin’ there. He’s copin’ the best he can. For now, all I can do is leave him to it.”

Craig looked down at his lap. He felt some of that resignation that he heard in Myra’s voice, saw on her face, and he tried to fight it. He didn’t want to accept that this was it. He didn’t want to accept that doing nothing was the best thing he could do. It was driving him crazy.

“I just want to help,” he said.

“I think you’re really brave,” Myra said.

Craig snorted a laugh, looking at her. “Brave? I’m terrified.”

“That’s what bravery is, Craig,” Myra told him. “Doing it anyway.”

“Isn’t that stupidity?” Craig asked.

Myra smiled at him. “Perhaps. Never could tell the difference.”

Craig smiled. He looked away. He felt more relaxed, like some of the knots inside him had been loosened. Like maybe he wasn’t completely alone in this. The simple act of talking had helped, had maybe even straightened a couple of things out in his head. But he still had no idea what he was supposed to do. He still felt lost when it came to helping John Paul.

“Listen,” Myra said. “If you want to do our John Paul a favour, you keep your spirits up. I could sit at home and cry everyday over him if I let myself. But that’s not gonna do anyone any good. The best thing that I can do is to go to work and earn my money and look after the kids I’ve still got with me. The best thing I can do is have something to smile about, so I can see him smile back. I know that it’s hard, love, but I promise you, you’re doing him the world of good. He raves about you.”

“Does he?” Craig asked, unable to stop the smile creeping over his face.

“Oh, aye, all the time,” Myra told him. “So, if you let all this drag you down, you won’t be much use to him. You need to live your life. You need to smile so you can make him smile.”

“Simple as that, huh?” Craig joked. Most days, the last thing he wanted to do was smile.

“Never said it was simple,” Myra replied. “But you’re a hero in my eyes for trying. I don’t know many people who would.”

Craig gave a shrug. “It all just kind of happened, to be honest,” he said. “Kind of ran away with me.”

“Well, you’re making the effort to stick around,” Myra said. “That’s worth a few stars in my book.” Craig smiled at her. “Anyway, that tea must be clap cold now. Shall I stick the kettle back on.”

“I think I’m gonna get off, actually,” Craig replied. “But, thanks. For listening to me.”

“Anytime,” Myra told him. “I mean that. You ever want a rant, or a good cry or just a bit of a pep talk, you know where I am. Even if you just want a chat.”

“Thanks,” Craig smiled, getting to his feet. Myra followed him to the door.

“And don’t mind her,” she continued, jabbing a thumb towards the stairs. “She likes to think she’s hard. She’s just gobby is all. Shall I tell Carmel you called?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Craig replied. “I think I’m sorted now.”

“Glad to hear it,” Myra smiled. “I’ll see you later, love.”

*

Craig felt guilty about breaking down in front on Myra. If anyone didn’t need any more stress and dramatic children in her life, he was sure it was Myra McQueen. And yet she’d been so kind. She’d talked him down from the edge and actually made him feel better. John Paul still weighed heavily on his mind, but Craig felt as though he always would, like maybe this would just be how his thought process worked now – a constant preoccupation with blue eyes and aching sadness. But maybe Myra was right. Maybe he did need something else to focus on too. He wasn’t even capable of writing a letter in his current state of mind. What use was he to John Paul like that? Still, the irony of it seemed to mock Craig – that he had to turn his back on John Paul to be able to function enough to be his friend.

He was almost home when he ran into Hannah and a friend outside Drive ‘n’ Buy. Hannah smiled at him, giving a little wave. She looked so sweet and friendly. Craig idly wondered how John Paul had managed to surround himself with so many caring people in his life.

“Hiya,” she greeted.

“Hi,” Craig replied, putting his hands into his pockets as he stopped in front of her.

“This is Craig,” Hannah told her friend. “The one who writes to John Paul.”

“Oh, right,” her friend replied, something like a vague smile on her lips. “I’m Sarah. I’m another of John Paul’s mates. It’s dead nice what you’re doing. I’m rubbish at writing letters.”

Craig nodded. He couldn’t help his eyes scanning downwards to the long legs that she had on display. They seemed to go on forever, capped off by a tiny pair of shorts. She was like something out of a magazine.

“Anyway, we were just heading for a drink if you fancied coming,” Hannah said.

Craig forced his eyes back upwards. “I was just heading back to the flat actually.”

“Oh, well, maybe another time then,” Hannah smiled. She made a move to leave.

“Wait,” Craig said. “Wait a minute.”

Hannah and Sarah both looked at him expectantly. What was he going to do if he went back to that flat? He was going to mope around and struggle with his letter and tie himself back up in knots. He was going to be no use at all. Maybe he should take Myra’s advice about living his life and put it straight into practice.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d love to go for a drink.”

“Great,” Hannah said, beaming at him. “Let’s go then.”

When they got to The Dog, Darren was behind the bar, that familiar smirk coming over his face as he saw Craig. Craig sighed wearily, rolling his eyes, as the three of them headed over. Darren always made him feel like he was some stupid kid, and he couldn’t stand it. He really wasn’t in the mood to be talked down to.

“I’ll get these,” he said as they reached the bar. “What’re you having?”

“White wine for me,” Hannah said.

“Yeah, same, thanks,” Sarah added.

“Two white wines and pint then, Darren,” Craig said.

“Flashing the cash, are you?” Darren teased. “Your luck’s certainly changed. Two at once, ay? Was beginning to worry about you.”

Craig gave him a look. “Can we just get the drinks, please? I don’t need your idea of a social commentary.”

“Yeah, alright, keep your hair on,” Darren said dramatically. He gave the girls an obvious once over. “You’ve got good taste at least,” he said, before heading to get the drinks.

“Do you know him?” Sarah asked as they headed towards a table, drinks in hand.

“Yeah,” Craig said regrettably. “That’s my idiot step-brother.”

“Your parents own this place then?” Hannah asked as they sat down.

“My mum and my step-dad do, yeah.”

“That must be pretty cool, having all this at your disposal,” Hannah said, looking around.

“It’s a bit of a pain actually,” Craig replied. “I’m just glad I don’t live here anymore.”

“You going into your final year next year then?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah,” Craig replied. “Get these last few assignments out of the way and I’m done for the summer.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Sarah said. “I so need a break.”

“You’re first years, aren’t you?” Craig said.

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed.

Craig shook his head. “First year doesn’t count.”

“Oh, cheers,” Sarah said. “So I’ve put in all this hard work for nothing, have I?”

“Well, no,” Craig said awkwardly. “I mean... It’s not for _nothing_. It’s all ground work. It’s just that you can get away with not doing much in your first year really.”

“You a big slacker were you?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Craig said, looking down. “No, I was nothing like a slacker. Work far too hard sometimes.”

“Good thing we dragged you out then, isn’t it?” Sarah smiled.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, thinking that she was probably right. Everyone kept telling him he needed to get a life, including John Paul. Craig smiled as he thought of the teasing way he’d said it to him during their last visit. He looked up at the girls again. “You two both went to school with John Paul then?”

“Yeah, and if you want the goss on him, you’re best off asking her,” Sarah said, indicating Hannah. “Inseparable, those two were. Joined at the hip.”

“We weren’t that bad,” Hannah protested. “Just best mates, that’s all.”

“Except that Hannah had a little crush on him,” Sarah teased.

“I did not,” Hannah insisted, laughing at the ludicrousness, but Craig could see her blushing. Sarah gave her a look. “Alright, maybe, once. But that was ages ago. I’m well over that.”

“What was he like then?” Craig asked. “Swot or slacker?”

“Wasn’t a swot, but he used to work dead hard, didn’t he, Han?” Sarah said.

“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “Was on for some top grades. Only got to take one exam in the end. Before...” She trailed off. The sentence didn’t need finishing.

“Did he ever even get a result for that?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah,” Hannah said sadly, looking down into her drink. Her expression of sadness and regret was one that Craig now recognised easily. It was the same one that looked back at him every time he looked in the mirror. “Got an A.”

“Did he?” Sarah asked, sounding impressed.

“His mum’s got it up on the wall,” Hannah said, still staring morosely down, off in her own world.

“She put it up?” Sarah asked. “You’re kidding.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” Craig asked defensively. “Do his achievements not count anymore or something?”

Sarah looked a little taken aback. “Course they do,” she said. “I just wouldn’t think she’d want a constant reminder on her wall of all that wasted potential.”

“I don’t think she needs reminders, Sarah,” Hannah told her. “I think she knows perfectly well.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I mean,” Sarah said. She looked from Hannah to Craig, clearly sensing she was the odd one out. Craig kind of wanted to go home and mope around again. “Anyway, you got any plans for over the summer then?” Sarah asked him, making a valiant effort to rescue the mood.

“Not really,” Craig replied. In all honesty, he didn’t even want to think about it. He knew that, without uni to throw himself into, his time would be pretty empty. “Might go somewhere with my sister and her kid,” he said. “Probably spend most of my time behind that bar.”

“I’d love to get away,” Sarah said wistfully. “Somewhere tropical. British summer’s never anything to shout about, is it?”

“Yeah, well, if only I had the money,” Hannah said.

“Mmm,” Sarah agreed.

“I saw John Paul on Saturday,” Craig cut in.

“Yeah?” Hannah asked, seeming to actually lean forward in her seat as her face became more animated. “How is he?”

“Yeah, you know, he’s doin’ alright,” Craig shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about the lack of shine in his eyes or the fact that sometimes he disappeared into his own world and just stared at the table, looking like a lost little child. He didn’t even want to think about that if he was honest. “Had a lad’s chat. Y’know, girls and footie and all that. Think it might have been a nice change of pace from his normal visits.”

“Yeah, I bet he appreciated having someone to talk to the footie about,” Sarah said wearily, exchanging a look with Hannah that suggested neither one of them had any interest in football.

“In fairness, I did try,” Hannah said. “Even asked my brother Rhys to explain the offside rule to me. But I don’t think Rhys knows the offside rule, because what he said made no sense.”

“How is it that such a lad’s lad like John Paul ended up as so many girls as friends?” Craig asked. “I mean, I know he told me he was a romantic, but he doesn’t seem like he’s into soppy, girly stuff. No offence.”

“He said he was a romantic?” Hannah asked, looking like she might actually swoon at the thought.

“He had mates at footie and stuff, and but they weren’t really mates he’d hang around with,” Sarah said. “I don’t know, having all those sisters, I think he kind of knew where he stood with girls. That, and Hannah never gave him much of a chance, did you Han?”

“Oi,” Hannah complained. “Stop it, will ya? You’re makin’ me sound like a right stalker.”

“He was asking about your boyfriend,” Craig told her.

“John Paul was?” Hannah asked. Craig nodded. “Oh, God, how embarrassing.”

“He was only looking out for you,” Craig said, feeling himself getting protective over John Paul.

“Yeah, I know, but I really don’t need another big brother stroke father figure, thanks,” Hannah said, very close to rolling her eyes.

“Bet he didn’t ask about my love life,” Sarah said. Judging by the look Hannah gave her, Craig guessed that Sarah was just trying to wind her up.

“Well, I didn’t know who you were then,” Craig said. “If I mention you next time, he might.”

She leaned in slightly, making eye contact with Craig. “Yeah, well, if he does, you can tell him I’m single.”

Craig nodded. He got the impression that she was flirting with him, but it had been so long that he thought he might actually have forgotten how this worked. His eyes fell over her body again, every curve and smooth line. He figured, if she was flirting, it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

After a couple of drinks, Elliot joined them, and Craig actually found himself having fun. It was nice to just have a laugh with some friends. Maybe this was just what he’d needed after all. He coaxed stories about John Paul out of Hannah and Sarah, funny ones and sweet ones, building up a picture in his mind of who John Paul really was, who he’d be if he still had the chance. Craig actually found himself wishing that he’d gone to school with the three of them. Maybe then he’d be less lonely.

As the evening wore on, Sarah seemed to move closer to Craig, the two of them drifting off into their own conversation about their courses at uni and what they wanted to do after. The more that Craig had to drink, the more he thought he wouldn’t mind if she just carried on leaning in a bit further. He wasn’t sure if it was just sexual frustration or loneliness or the fact that she was fit, but either way, it’d been a while, and it was starting to seem like a decent enough end to the night.

His phone beeped in his pocket, bringing him back to reality. He took it out, finding a message from Steph.

 _Can u get bread &milk on ur way home?_

Craig smiled. It kind of summed up the excitement of his life really. “I think I’m gonna have to head off in a bit,” he said.

“Oh, really?” Sarah asked, seeming disappointed.

“We need some stuff from the shop,” Craig explained.

“I’ve got a couple of things I need to pick up from the shop actually,” Sarah said. “We could walk down together, if you like.”

“Yeah, alright,” Craig agreed. Sarah beamed at him. Craig was pretty sure this was flirting. “Shall we...?” He gestured towards the exit with his thumb.

“Yeah, let’s get off.” She stood up, grabbing her bag as Craig drained the rest of his pint. “I’ll call you later, Hannah.”

“Have fun, you two,” Hannah responded.

“Yeah, I hear Drive ‘n’ Buy’s bangin’ on a Tuesday night,” Craig joked. “I’ll see you later, Elliot.”

“Yes, goodbye, Craig,” Elliot replied. “It was nice talking to you.”

Craig gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he and Sarah headed outside. Sarah chatted away as they walked, and Craig mostly let her talk, feeling a little lightheaded from the alcohol now that he was out in the cool evening air. He liked her company though. He liked not walking around on his own for once, his head down and his hands shoved in his pockets.

When they got to Drive ‘n’ Buy, Craig grabbed the bread and milk he needed, waiting for Sarah as she picked up biscuits and teabags, joining him at the till.

“It’s a good thing you said about going to the shop,” Sarah said. “I would’ve forgotten. My dad wouldn’t have been best pleased.”

“Dodged a bullet there then,” Craig replied.

“Yeah,” Sarah said, smiling a little self-consciously as she handed her money over. They stepped outside, ambling slowly in the way people did when they were trying to buy more time. “I had fun tonight,” Sarah said.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Yeah, me too.”

He stopped on the pavement, preparing to part ways and head up to the flat. Sarah stopped too, turning to face him.

“John Paul’s lucky to have a friend like you,” Sarah said.

“I think I’m lucky to have a friend like John Paul,” Craig replied.

“Yeah?” Sarah asked, seeming a little surprised.

“He’s a good lad is John Paul,” Craig said firmly. “Intelligent conversation, good sense of humour.”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” She stood somewhat awkwardly for a moment. “Guess I should get back then.”

“Me too, yeah,” Craig agreed.

Sarah looked at him, meeting his eyes. “We should do this again sometime,” she said. “All of us. Or...”

Craig nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

He rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck. She leaned in slightly, and Craig could tell what she wanted, he wasn’t that drunk or out of practice, but he felt completely unsure of himself. He edged his way forward slightly, their eyes locked together, and Craig hoped that his were saying the right thing. He had no idea where his brain was right now. Part of him definitely wanted to kiss her. The other part just wanted to go home and put his feet up and not have to deal with any more complicated relationships. He thought he’d rather be working out what to write to John Paul than trying to work Sarah out right now. He’d never been any good at this.

Still, as Sarah finally got up the bottle to kiss him, he kissed back. His hand went gently to the side of her face, brushing her hair out of the way. Their lips parted and he could feel the tip of her tongue teasing at his mouth. It was nice, she was a good kisser, and he probably needed this kind of human contact right now, but his mind wandered. Wandered to John Paul and the thoughts he’d had about the lack of intimacy he faced for the rest of his life. He’d never have the chance to get tipsy and get off with someone he’d just met while he awkwardly held a shopping bag of bread and milk in one hand. The unfairness of that seemed to completely cut through the mood for Craig. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sarah, that he didn’t fancy her, that everything wasn’t very much in the right place. He just wasn’t in the right frame of mind for something like this.

He pulled back, bowing his head to avoid looking at her. That probably made him a coward, but it was too late now. “I have to go,” he said. “I have milk. It’ll get warm. Go sour.”

“Right,” Sarah said. She was looking at him a little strangely. He didn’t blame her.

“I’ll see you later though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed.

They stood awkwardly for a moment before exchanging hesitant smiles and taking a couple of steps in the same direction. They stopped, looking at each other.

“I live...” Craig began, gesturing the stairs.

“Yeah, me too,” Sarah said.

“Suppose that means I can walk you home then,” Craig said.

“How chivalrous,” Sarah responded.

“That’s me,” Craig told her as they began to walk up the stairs together. Sarah stopped at the first door.

“And this is me.”

“Right,” Craig said. Sarah nodded. They were back to standing awkwardly again.

“Hey, listen, do you want my number?” Sarah offered. “Y’know, in case you want to get in touch so we can all meet up or whatever.”

“Oh, well, y’know, I’m a bit useless,” Craig said. “I’ll get busy and forget to call and you’ll think that I hate you, which I don’t, so it’s probably safer if we leave it. I mean, I’m sure I’ll run into you. At uni or something.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, but she looked a little put out. Craig stared at his feet. “Right, best go in then,” Sarah said, trying to sound cheery.

“Yeah, yeah, no point standing out here,” Craig said.

“No,” Sarah responded. “I’ll see you later then.”

“You certainly will,” Craig promised, a little too enthusiastically. Sarah gave a smile and headed inside. As soon as she was gone, Craig rolled his eyes, cursing himself for acting like an idiot.

When he got inside his own flat, Steph was curled up on the sofa, watching TV. “Did you get the stuff?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Bread and milk,” Craig announced, holding the bag up as he headed through to the kitchen to put it away.

“You’re a star,” Steph told him.

“Oh, I know,” Craig replied. He flopped down beside her on the sofa.

“Where’ve you been then?” Steph asked.

“Went for a couple of drinks,” Craig replied. “Kissed a girl.”

Steph looked at him, smiling. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not wasted drunk,” Craig dismissed. “Just nicely drunk.”

“Do you like her?”

Craig turned to face Steph. “Who?”

“The girl you kissed,” Steph said, giving him a look.

“Yeah,” Craig replied, turning back to the TV.

“So how come you’ve come home alone?” Steph asked.

Craig shrugged. “Wasn’t in the mood.” He turned back to Steph. “You fancy watching a film?”

“Yeah, okay,” Steph replied. “What do you wanna watch?”

“ _The Shawshank Redemption_?” Craig suggested. “I’ve got the DVD upstairs.”

“Is that depressing?” Steph asked warily.

“No,” Craig stated. “It’s about hope.”

“Alright,” Steph agreed. “Go get it then.”

Craig practically leapt to his feet, jogging up the stairs to his room. As he opened the door he saw the screwed up, abandoned letters to John Paul, as well as the half-written one that he knew he’d never send, even if it was the most honest thing he could say. Still, after his talk with Myra, and his attempt at putting her advice into action, he thought maybe he didn’t need to bother John Paul with the query anyway.

He found himself sitting down at his desk, picking up his pen and scrawling a little more honesty at the bottom.

 _I’m drunk. Wish you were here to get drunk with me. I bet we’d have a right laugh._

He smiled to himself, contemplating signing it with some kisses, but then he just giggled. Yeah, definitely drunk. He left the letter and grabbed the DVD, heading back down to Steph.


	8. Chapter 8

_John Paul_

 _Actually, I think you’ll find I do have good taste in films. Are you honestly telling me that The Goonies isn’t a classic? What about Back to the Future? Who doesn’t love that film? You’ve gotta at least like E.T. Then there’s Die Hard and Gremlins and the Indiana Jones movies. The 80s was clearly the best decade for films._

 _But, then, you were probably too busy watching sensitive dramas to have even seen any of those films. Which isn’t a dig at Shawshank, by the way. As I’ve said, that, at least, was decent. Not what I’d normally watch, but I suppose broadening my horizons can’t be too bad a thing. Most of the other things you mentioned sound like stuff Steph would watch._

 _You know your footie though, mate, I’ll give you that. You’ve got a pretty good line-up there. I’m still putting the finishing touches on mine, but I reckon I could give you a run for your money. Do you have money? That’s a stupid question. Name your wager and we could make it pretty interesting._

 _Anyway, I’m down to my last two assignments before I can throw the towel in on my second year. One of them’s nearly done, so it’s only one that I have an excuse to stress over really. Then, in September, it’ll be down to the home stretch. In theory, the world will be my oyster after that. Not sure how much greatness comes out of HCC in reality though. I guess there’s always got to be an exception to the rule. Why can’t it be me?_

 _Does that sound conceited or ambitious? I can’t quite tell. In reality, nowadays, I’m probably somewhere in between. I think I’ve lost a lot of the naivety that leads to true ambition, but I try. Everyone needs a goal, right? Without that focus, there’s nothing really left but a rut._

 _Ugh, thinky thoughts. That’s your influence. I hope you’re happy. I’m gonna send the next book in the next couple of days. I know you must be finishing up with the last one, but I haven’t had chance to get into town yet this week. Should have some time to wander aimlessly around a bookshop tomorrow afternoon though._

 _I’ll talk to you soon  
Craig_

*

As Craig headed down the stairs, letter in hand, he could hear Steph giggling in the living room, the giddy sounds floating towards him.

“What’s tickled you?” he asked.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Steph on the sofa with Niall by her side, his arms wrapped around her waist. She was squirming slightly, half-heartedly trying to push him off while the two of them grinned at each other.

“Oh, right,” Craig said quietly too himself.

“Craig,” Steph smiled at him, clearly in a good mood.

“Alright, Craig, mate?” Niall greeted. He moved slightly away from Steph, but kept one arm around her in an annoyingly familiar way.

“Yeah, fine,” Craig replied guardedly. He stood there awkwardly, looking at the two of them and trying very hard not to glare.

“We were just getting ready to watch a film if you fancy it,” Niall offered.

Craig hated how chipper and welcoming Niall was on the surface. He didn’t buy it for a second. He’d seen glimmers of something else underneath, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it unnerved him. He couldn’t stand the thought of this man getting cosy with his sister.

“I have to post a letter,” he said, holding it up as if he needed to prove himself.

“Is that to John Paul?” Steph asked, looking excited on Craig’s behalf.

“Haven’t started any more letter writing campaigns,” Craig replied dryly.

“Thought he was more than a letter writing campaign,” Steph said.

Craig smiled to himself. John Paul felt more and more like a friend each day. Even on the days between letters he somehow felt like he was growing closer to John Paul, if only because it was another day that they’d known each other. And even though those days might not seem to count for much, being that John Paul might as well be on another planet, sometimes Craig’s thoughts would wander, and in thinking over John Paul’s letters, John Paul’s phrasing, John Paul’s mannerisms, he’d often unlock some tiny part of John Paul that hadn’t occurred to him before, and he felt a sense of pride and achievement every time that he did.

“You write to John Paul?” Niall asked.

“You know John Paul?” Craig returned, feeling thrown. The idea made him uneasy for some reason. Maybe it was that strange protective streak he had for John Paul that rivalled the one he had for Steph.

“Yeah, sound lad is John Paul,” Niall said. “Used to hang round my flat quite a bit.”

“Why?” Craig asked. He didn’t mean to sneer the word so much, but he couldn’t imagine why John Paul would want anything to do with someone like Niall.

Niall got this secretive little smile on his lips that gave Craig the creeps. “No reason.” He looked up, meeting Craig’s eyes. “If you want to run to the post box, we can wait on starting the film ‘til you get back, if you like.”

“No,” Craig dismissed. “No, it’s fine. Got a shift at The Dog in a bit anyway.”

“How come?” Steph asked.

Craig shrugged. “Mum asked. I could use the cash.” He looked at the two of them, the way that Niall was gently holding onto Steph. It made him grind his teeth, but he wasn’t going to stick around. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Steph replied.

“Bye,” Niall said. It sounded somehow ominous.

*

Craig knew he was going to be early for his shift, but there was no way he was going back to the flat so long as he knew Niall was there, and it wasn’t like he had any place else to go. Still, whenever he stepped through the doors of The Dog, ready to start a shift, his mood seemed to go rapidly south. Probably because it meant he had to be surrounded by people who were in a much better mood than him. Craig’s favourite kind of customers were those who were drowning their sorrows. At least he had something in common with them.

“Craig,” Frankie called before he’d even gotten a chance to get to the bar. “I’m glad you’re here early.” She seemed flustered, which was never a good sign.

“You busy?” Craig asked, looking around. The place certainly didn’t seem busy.

“No,” Frankie dismissed. “I just wanted to have a word with you before I had to go.”

“Oh,” Craig said, feeling decidedly underwhelmed at the concept. He walked around the bar to where she was. “What’s wrong?”

“I was talking to Carmel,” Frankie began.

Craig looked at her, his suspicions rising. He told himself he was being paranoid. “What about?”

“Well, you’re just, you’ve been off lately, Craig,” Frankie said. “More so than usual.”

“Oh, cheers,” Craig said.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Frankie continued. “I’ve been worried. And after your little outburst in Evissa last week... You were asking after Carmel. So I thought I’d see if she knew what was wrong with you.”

Craig froze, feeling his entire body tense. His heart was beating too fast, adrenalin surging, the fight or flight reflex taking effect. He told himself that Carmel wouldn’t tell. She wouldn’t.

“And?” he prompted, trying his best to appear casual, but the word came out a little more defiant than he’d planned.

“She said you were probably just worrying about John Paul,” Frankie replied. “Took me a second to place the name. Then I remembered. Her brother. The one who’s in prison. For murder.”

“So?” Craig asked defensively. He thought his heart might actually beat right out of his chest. He had a funny feeling it was all about to go to shit.

“So?!” Frankie exploded, trying to keep her voice down. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“What have I done wrong?” Craig asked.

“Why would you want to have anything to do with that boy?” Frankie demanded.

“That boy?” Craig repeated, her condescending tone of voice making him cringe. “Don’t call him that, alright? He has a name.”

“I’m well aware what his name is,” Frankie said curtly. “I think everyone in this village knows _his_ name. And what he did.”

“What’s the problem?” Craig asked, just wanting to get this over with.

“The problem,” Frankie said, “is that he’s a murderer, and I don’t think you should be having anything to do with him. He’s dangerous.”

“Mum, he’s not dangerous,” Craig told her. “And he’s not a murderer.”

“He killed a man,” Frankie stated incredulously. “Of course he’s dangerous.”

“That was self-defence,” Craig said. “It’s not like he just went out and killed someone for a laugh. You’re twisting it all around. How is this even anything to do with you?”

“You’re my son,” Frankie said. “I’m supposed to look after you.”

“Yeah, fine job you’re doing at looking after your kids,” Craig said. “Shall we go through the list?”

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me,” Frankie warned. “Now, I may not have been the perfect mother, but I have always been there for you all. I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you kids.”

“Then why are you attacking me?” Craig asked. “I’m happy.”

“Oh, yes, you looked very happy the other day,” Frankie said. “You were going out of your mind.”

“My life’s better since I met him,” Craig told her. “I’d have bad days whether I knew him or not. It’s irrelevant.”

“Craig, just stop this before you get sucked in,” Frankie pleaded. “This isn’t something that you want to get involved with.”

“I am involved,” Craig stated. “And can you stop making it sound so seedy?”

“That family is nothing but... scallies and slappers,” Frankie said. “I do not want you getting dragged down with them.”

“Our family’s hardly perfect either,” Craig replied. “Affairs, divorce, debts, gambling, dangerous loan sharks, a business on the verge of collapse, that weirdo with the eyeliner who hears voices...”

“Stop right there,” Frankie cut in. She was clearly seething, but Craig was on a roll.

“Not to mention Jake,” he continued. “Oh, but, we _don’t_ mention Jake, do we?”

“That is enough,” Frankie said firmly. “You are acting like a petulant child.”

“Well, maybe that’s because you’re treating me like one,” Craig returned.

“I’m just worried about you,” Frankie appealed.

“Don’t be,” Craig told her. “That family is a nice family. They support each other. They support me, and they really don’t have to.”

“Craig, _I_ am here to support you,” Frankie insisted.

“And John Paul is a good person,” Craig went on. “He’s a laugh and he’s really smart and I like spending time with him. I like writing to him. I like being his friend. He means a lot to me.”

Frankie looked at him carefully, something hesitant in her manner. “What exactly do you mean by ‘he means a lot to me’?”

“What?” Craig asked, trying to follow her train of thought. He’d had enough. Frankie just looked at him curiously, like she was working something out, and it made Craig uncomfortable. “You know what, you want to worry about someone, why don’t you worry about Steph?” he asked.

Frankie focused, looking concerned. “Why should I worry about Steph?”

“Don’t you know about her new boyfriend?” Craig asked.

“What new boyfriend?” Frankie asked, irritation showing over her features.

“Go find out for yourself,” Craig replied, turning and walking away.

*

Craig felt bad about ratting Steph out like that. He knew exactly what Frankie would think of her dating Niall. She wouldn’t be nearly so kind about it as Craig had tried to be. But he’d needed a deflection, and it was the easiest thing to grab for. He was sure that made him a terrible brother, but he couldn’t handle trying to explain John Paul to his mum. She was too judgemental to ever get it. Except that she had that urge to help people too. That was why she’d invited Newt into her house after all. Or maybe it was just because she was broody and annoyed at the rest of them for growing up.

“Hiya.”

Craig looked up, the cheery voice cutting through his thoughts. He saw Sarah standing in front of him, a slightly unsure smile on her face.

“Hi,” he returned.

“Looks like you were right,” Sarah commented.

Craig looked at her blankly, no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

“Well, you said we’d run into each other,” Sarah said. “And here we are.”

“Right, yeah,” Craig agreed, shaking his head slightly as if to dismiss his absent mind. “Here we are.”

“Yeah, I’m just with Hannah,” Sarah said. “We’re just over there.” She pointed and Craig automatically looked, but he couldn’t see from where he stood, one of the partitions in the way.

“Right,” he said again, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“You should come over and say hi if you get a chance,” Sarah said, something hopeful in her eye that made Craig uncomfortable.

“I’m working,” he said redundantly, as though the fact that he was standing behind the bar might have somehow gone over her head.

“Yeah, obviously,” Sarah replied. “I just meant if you got a break or whatever.”

“Maybe,” Craig shrugged. Sarah looked awkward and a little upset. Craig felt like a total bastard.

“Anyway,” she breezed. “I’m supposed to be getting the drinks in. Two white wines, please.”

“Two white wines,” Craig repeated, reaching for the glasses.

*

Collecting glasses was marginally better than standing behind the bar because at least he was moving. At least he could concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. It was certainly the most straightforward thing that had been in his head all day. Except for the letter that he’d written to John Paul this morning. That had been straightforward. The words had flowed out of him and onto the page, simple jokey banter that got easier with each letter, easier the closer they got. Easier so long as Craig didn’t look at the big picture. So long as he took Myra’s advice and didn’t spend too much time thinking about all of the things that John Paul would never have.

And so he focused on their growing friendship instead. It was definitely one of the better things in his life, and he had a suspicion that it might be one of the better things in John Paul’s life too. It was a possibility that made Craig feel a little giddy. He just wished they didn’t have to have the bars between them. If John Paul was here instead of locked in there, Craig thought a great deal of his problems might be solved.

“He doesn’t like me, Han.”

Craig froze, staying just out of sight but within hearing distance of the girls. He gripped the empty glasses that he held and listened.

“Course he does,” Hannah dismissed. Craig didn’t think she sounded very interested.

“Hannah, he’s not interested,” Sarah stated firmly. “He didn’t even want my number. If he fancied me at all, he would have taken my number. I mean, it’s common courtesy to take it anyway, even if he wasn’t going to call.”

“Maybe the fact that he didn’t means he’s genuine,” Hannah suggested.

“Genuinely not into me,” Sarah muttered. “He totally blew me off at the bar. It was embarrassing.”

Craig cringed, feeling a creeping shame up his spine. He hated the fact that he’d made her feel like that. He should be throwing himself at this gorgeous girl, and he couldn’t work out why he wasn’t.

“Look, we both know you could have anyone. Why are you obsessing over Craig?” Hannah asked. “It’s not like you’re stuck with the dregs of the single male populous of Hollyoaks like me.”

“Craig’s fit,” Sarah said. Craig felt a kind of pride at that comment. “Plus, he’s nice. Like all that stuff with John Paul. How many people do you know who’d do that? It’s dead compassionate.”

“Since when did you care about compassion?” Hannah asked. She sounded bored. Craig got the impression that the two of them had variations of this conversation a lot.

“Shouldn’t you be collecting glasses, not propping up walls.”

Craig looked up at Darren urgently, sending him a warning glare, not wanting his cover blown. Darren just sauntered up to him, apparently oblivious.

“Saw those two birds you were in here with the other night.”

“Yeah, I know,” Craig said quietly, moving away from where he was stood, picking up glasses from a nearby empty table.

“Well?” Darren said suggestively.

“Well, what?” Craig asked.

“Which one are you after?” Darren prompted. “I saw you serving that brunette. She seems pretty into you. Does she need glasses or something?”

“Just leave it, Darren,” Craig said wearily.

“Here, are you alright, mate?” Darren asked. He actually sounded concerned, which made Craig nervous.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied dismissively.

“So what’s the deal with this whole John Paul thing then?”

“You know about that too?” Craig asked, rolling his eyes. “Fantastic.”

“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Darren said.

Craig looked at him. “What is?”

“Well, I know you seem to have a hard time making friends, but this is a bit of a last resort isn’t it?” Darren stated. “Though, I suppose he can’t run away from you. Got no option, has he? Can’t see why you can’t just go down the pub like a normal person though.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Craig muttered, making his way back to the bar. Darren followed him.

“I know Frankie flew off the handle with you a bit, but she’s just worried about you. We all are.”

“I’m sick of hearing it,” Craig said, turning to face him. “I don’t need anyone to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Course you are, mate,” Darren said, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. He looked anything but convinced. “If you’re ever not fine, you know you can talk to me, right? We could go to a club, pull some birds, take your mind off it all. Mmm?”

He gave Craig a suggestive wink, but Craig knew it was only to cover up how out of his depth he was offering genuine comfort. He didn’t like it when he could be seen as vulnerable, even though to everyone else it would simply be considered being human. Still, if Darren was this worried about him, it made alarm bells ring in Craig’s head. Clearly they all thought he was going off the deep end. He wished that he could make them understand, not just to get them off his back, but to be able to share it with them. To not have to act like he should be ashamed.

“Why is everyone worried?” he asked.

Darren looked up at him like he was mad. “You mean, besides the fact that he stabbed a bloke to death? No, can’t think why we could possibly be worried, mate.”

“Come on,” Craig said, giving him a look. “He’s hardly going to stab me to death in a prison visiting room, is he? What’s the real reason?”

“The stabbing people to death thing’s pretty high up on the list,” Darren assured him.

“Not people, _person_ ,” Craig corrected. “And it wasn’t even...” He shook his head. He wasn’t going to get into this again. Defending John Paul made him look more guilty. He wasn’t giving anyone any more ammo.

“You didn’t know him before, did you?” Darren asked. “I mean, before he was banged up.”

“I’d never met him,” Craig admitted. “I’ve only met him twice now. But we write a lot. I’ll go again as soon as I can.”

Darren nodded. “Why him? If you didn’t know him and you’d never even met him, then why strike up some weird friendship with him in the first place? Why not any of the hundreds of other criminals you could go and make nice with if you really felt like it.”

“Because he’s different,” Craig said. “What he did, I feel like I get it. I would’ve done the same for Steph or Deb. It makes sense to me.”

Darren looked at him for a moment. His face was serious and Craig kind of hated seeing him like that. He wished he’d make some joke at his expense or something. This just felt awkward. The two of them didn’t have much practice being sincere with each other.

“It’s all pretty heavy, isn’t it?” Darren finally said.

Craig gave a shrug. “Suppose.”

“Your girlfriend’s leaving,” Darren said, nodding his head behind Craig.

Craig turned, seeing Sarah on her feet, pulling on her coat. He thought about the kiss, how it had felt nice to just be close to someone. To be wanted. But, still, he hadn’t felt much. Except for guilt that he was doing something John Paul would probably never experience again. Maybe that was what had spoiled the mood for him. Maybe that was why he was holding back. Some tiny part of him thought he might alienate himself from John Paul if he had a girlfriend, like they’d have one less thing in common.

But Sarah didn’t deserve this, to be messed around and made to doubt herself. She was stunning. She was a nice girl. Craig could definitely do a lot worse. And she liked him. That didn’t seem to happen too often. Maybe he shouldn’t let it slip through his fingers so easily. Myra had told him that living his life was the best way to help John Paul. He just hoped that she was right.

“Sarah,” he called as she headed for the door. She stopped, turning towards him as he made his way over to her. “Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” Sarah returned, looking slightly bemused.

“So, yeah, I was, erm, I was wondering if I could maybe have your number,” he stammered. “Y’know, if it wasn’t a time limited offer or something.”

Sarah stared at him for a moment. “Now you want my number?”

“Yeah,” Craig said. “I mean, if you... if you still want me to have it.”

“And what if you get busy and forget to phone me?” Sarah asked, clearly remembering the lame way he’d brushed her off after the kiss.

“Well, then, in fairness, I did warn you,” Craig joked.

Sarah looked at him, not the slightest hint of amusement on her face, and Craig felt sure she’d turn around and walk out. Instead, she slid her bag from her shoulder, looking through it. She came out with a pen, grabbing a beer mat from the table and writing her number down on it. She held it out to Craig.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it off her and looking it over, as though the numbers might have some kind of secret hidden meaning. “I’ll, erm, try and remember to give you a call sometime then, yeah?”

“Vague, lacklustre promises,” Sarah said dryly. “Just what a girl dreams of.”

“I didn’t mean...” Craig began. “Because of what we said...”

“Well, if you do forget, we’re bound to run into each other,” Sarah said.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “It’s worked for us so far.”

Sarah nodded, looking amused, though Craig felt sure she was laughing at him, not with him. “Bye, Craig.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” Craig agreed. “Bye, Hannah.”

“Bye,” Hannah smiled, following Sarah out of the pub. “See!” she said, nudging Sarah, clearly thinking she was out of earshot.

Craig made his way back to the bar, looking over the beer mat again. He didn’t know if he was going to call. He didn’t know if she wanted him to. But, judging by the conversation he’d overheard, etiquette dictated that he take the number. Apparently that was more polite than being upfront. It was no wonder Craig could never get his head around dating.

“Smooth,” Darren said, giving him an amused look. “Maybe you should find a girlfriend in prison too.” He slapped Craig on the back, a little too hard, before heading down the bar.

*

When Craig got back to the flat, Steph was sitting at the kitchen counter, staring daggers at him as he came through the door. He closed it quietly behind himself, as though any loud noise would shatter the strained peace between them.

“I take it mum’s spoken to you,” he offered, moving slowly towards her.

“Yeah, thanks for that, Craig,” Steph said harshly.

“I’m sorry,” Craig said, joining her at the counter. He took a seat. “She was having a go at John Paul, it was doing my head in. I just wanted her to shut up. I know it was a really shitty thing to do, Steph, I’m sorry.”

Steph sighed, looking down at the counter, and all the fight seemed to go out of her. It was like she didn’t have the energy to fight with him. Or like she understood. He wasn’t sure which.

“What did she say?” Craig ventured.

Steph looked up at him. “What do you think she said?” Craig nodded. He could very easily guess. “What did she say to you?” Steph asked.

“What do you think she said?” Craig replied. Steph gave him a tiny smile. “Guess we’re both in the dog house then.”

Steph shrugged. “At least I’m in good company.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day,” Craig stated.

They were silent for a few moments. “D’ya fancy some ice cream?” Steph suggested.

Craig smiled at her. “Sounds like a plan.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Craig_

 _You’re going to hate me for this. I’ll just warn you in advance. Thing is, our Michaela’s going to come and visit me on Saturday, and mum always makes her come with an adult, meaning her or Jacqui. But I guess you must have made quite an impression on her when you went round for that cuppa because she said she wouldn’t mind if you came with her instead. Obviously, you really don’t have to if you don’t want to. As usual, I’ll accept any lame excuse you come up with, or just the plain truth that she’s a pain in the arse._

 _I just thought it would be nice for her to come and not have to get nagged at the whole time. They treat her like such a kid. And, yeah, she is a kid, but she’s 17, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated like she’s 12. It just makes everything strained and annoying, to be honest. Plus, this means you get to sneak an extra visit in before you’re strictly due one. Thought it’d be nice to see you again. Let me know either way. Trust me, I fully understand if you don’t want to put yourself through this._

 _As for my liking films your sister would be into? I would say you’re into films that my kid sister likes, but even she’s grown out of them. How old are you again? You seriously need to get some friends your own age, mate._

 _And you want a wager on the fantasy football? How about this? If I beat you, you have to read two books of my choosing. Now you gotta pick a forfeit for me. Not that you’ll win, of course, but I’ll let you have your delusions if you like._

 _John Paul._

*

“Carmel said that when she went with you to see John Paul, you paid for her ticket,” Michaela said expectantly as they stepped into the ticket office. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Craig a challenging look, clearly having no intention of reaching for her purse like Carmel had.

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s because Carmel’s nice to me,” Craig responded calmly, not looking at her.

“ _I’m_ nice to you,” Michaela said, actually managing to sound offended.

“When have you ever been nice to me?” Craig asked.

Michaela pouted. “I ha’n’t been as horrible as I coulda been.”

“So I’m supposed to buy you a train ticket out of gratitude?” Craig responded, giving her a look.

“I’m just a kid,” Michaela said, her voice softening as she gave him wide, pleading eyes. “I can’t afford it.”

Craig rolled his eyes as he stepped up to the ticket counter. “Two tickets to Wigan, please.” He didn’t miss Michaela’s self-satisfied grin.

*

Travelling to the prison with Michaela was a world away from the experience he’d had with Carmel. For one thing, Craig actually managed to arrive more tense than he had for that first visit, which was really saying something. There was nothing gentle or quiet about Michaela. Whereas Carmel had been a calming influence on Craig, Michaela did nothing but wind him up, and he was pretty sure she was doing it on purpose.

He knew she was probably just doing it in that childish way that teenagers did, and he tried to cut her some slack, because she was probably battling with hormones and insecurities and that awkward ‘not a kid, not yet an adult’ stage of her life, but she was really good at acting like an obnoxious brat and finding all of Craig’s weak spots. He felt like she could see right through him, not because she was particularly perceptive, but because he was transparent, and she’d bothered to look. She clearly got some joy out of trying to humiliate people.

When they got to the prison, Michaela’s attitude just seemed to worsen, giving the prison guards defiant looks and getting gobby with the person who was searching her. It was embarrassing and Craig felt like pretending that he wasn’t with her. He could see why people treated her like she was 12.

But when they got into the visiting hall and Craig saw John Paul smile widely at Michaela, he was glad that he could help bring them together. He was glad that he got to see the way John Paul looked fondly at his little sister. It made the nightmare journey a lot more worthwhile.

As John Paul’s attention shifted to Craig, his smile seemed to change too, less familiar but just as warm, and it made Craig smile irresistibly back. There was a connection there, like they were proper best friends, even if they barely got to see each other. Somehow they were closer for the fact that they relied on letters. It felt intimate, something kept just between the two of them, which made it all the more meaningful.

“Alright, Chaela?” John Paul asked as the pair of them sat down opposite him.

“Better than you, I reckon,” Michaela replied dryly, looking around the place.

“Yeah, thanks,” John Paul said. “Glad to see you’ve got such a sunny outlook on what I’m going through.” He turned to Craig, giving him another little smile. “Thanks for coming. Especially with her.” He nodded towards Michaela. “Is she being a pain?”

“Oi,” Michaela said indignantly.

“She’s been alright,” Craig lied. “You want a coffee?”

“Love one. Thanks,” John Paul replied. Craig gave a smile and nod, getting to his feet.

“Get us a coke, will you?” Michaela piped up. “And a Twix. No, a Kitkat Chunky. No, I want a Twix. Get us a Twix.”

“Michaela,” John Paul warned.

“What?” Michaela asked defensively.

“Could you try using some manners?” John Paul suggested.

Michaela pulled a face. “Thought I had to come with your mate ‘ere so that I _didn’t_ get nagged at.”

“It’s fine,” Craig insisted. “I’ll just go get them.”

He felt kind of bad for John Paul as he went to get the drinks. He clearly thought that Michaela was showing him up. Craig wanted to tell him that she was only showing herself up. He got both the Twix and the Kitkat Chunky for Michaela and headed back to the table with the drinks.

“Thank you,” Michaela said robotically as Craig returned. She gave John Paul a ‘happy now?’ look. John Paul rolled his eyes and looked at Craig apologetically. Craig shook his head and gave him a smile.

He sat down at the table, handing out the drinks before giving Michaela her two chocolate bars. She looked at them for a moment and a genuine smile came over her face. It was actually nice to see. Craig didn’t think he’d seen her smile yet. She looked up at him.

“Aww, thanks.”

Craig just shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

“She didn’t deserve that,” John Paul said. “But it was an incredibly sweet thing to do.”

“You would say that,” Michaela muttered, opening up the Twix. John Paul gave her a look before turning to Craig.

“How’s uni?”

“Yeah, alright,” Craig replied. “All kind of winding down now.” John Paul nodded.

“What’s he in for?” Michaela asked, nodding to someone a couple of tables behind John Paul.

“What?” John Paul asked, clearly thrown by the question.

“Him. What’s he in for?” Michaela repeated. John Paul glanced around to see who she was talking about. “He’s well fit.”

“They don’t throw people in prison for cuddling kittens,” John Paul told her. “Just leave it.”

“I’m only askin’,” Michaela said defensively. “Wondered if he might be gettin’ out soon. Don’t reckon I could be a prison groupie like Craig though.”

John Paul looked irritated. “Haven’t you got knocked up in a bus shelter yet?”

“Aren’t you someone’s girlfriend yet?” Michaela countered.

“Nah,” John Paul replied casually. “I’m saving myself for Big Prison. Get a more manly man.”

“You’ve always been into older blokes you,” Michaela agreed, that same easy casual tone.

Craig kind of liked watching them verbally sparring. He felt like he was seeing yet another side to John Paul, another little facet of his personality that he hadn’t yet discovered. Sometimes it was like siblings had their own secret language, they understood each other and they could talk in shorthand without having to make excuses. Clearly John Paul and Michaela took the piss out of each other in borderline offensive ways. It was kind of sweet.

But then something changed on John Paul’s face. His features darkened and he sent Michaela a warning look, one that made Craig pause. It definitely didn’t seem like they were joking anymore. John Paul’s eyes seemed to flick to Craig for half a second and then a smile was spreading over Michaela’s face. She looked to Craig and then back to John Paul.

“You haven’t told him, have you?”

“Michaela,” John Paul warned. His body was tense and he seemed barely restrained. “Not here.”

Craig could tell that, whatever this was, it was serious. The way John Paul was acting, Craig had never seen him like that before. When he first met John Paul, he was blasé and unapologetic, not afraid to talk about his crime. As they got closer, John Paul became warmer, more open and less passive aggressive. But this was something else. There was a definite threat in the way he was looking at Michaela, one that she didn’t seem at all phased by. But it was there. It was as though, whatever Michaela was on the cusp of spilling, John Paul saw it as worse than what he did that night. That fact frightened Craig.

“Told me what?” Craig asked, almost reluctantly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He wasn’t sure if he was betraying John Paul by asking. But he did know that this would eat him up until he found out what was going on, found out what John Paul had apparently been hiding from him. He wondered if he was naive to feel hurt by the omission.

Michaela turned to face him, a glint in her eye, and Craig could tell that she was enjoying this, enjoying winding John Paul up and making Craig feel insecure. At that moment, Craig really, truly disliked her. She was stirring, playing them both, and she was loving every second.

“Told you that he’s gay,” she stated matter of factly.

Craig stared at her. He didn’t react. He didn’t know how to react. It didn’t seem quite real somehow. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw John Paul’s head drop down in something like defeat, and he knew that she was telling the truth. He stared down at the table, trying to take it in. It didn’t matter, he told himself. It didn’t affect him, affect their friendship. Except that now he felt... weird. Some intrinsic part of their relationship had been altered and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

He looked tentatively up at John Paul. His head was still bowed and his body seemed tense. He looked scared and Craig wanted to reach out to him. He didn’t want John Paul to doubt their friendship over something so stupid as his sexuality, but wasn’t Craig now doubting it for that exact same reason?

“You’re...”

“Yeah,” John Paul said quickly before he could even finish asking. He lifted his gaze to meet Craig’s and something in his eyes looked shut out, like he had suddenly decided to keep Craig at a distance. It made Craig feel a tugging sadness and loss. “And I don’t exactly go around shouting about it in here,” John Paul continued. “I’m sure you can appreciate why.”

Craig nodded, unpleasant scenarios presenting themselves in his brain. John Paul would be an easy target in more ways than one if his fellow inmates knew that he was into blokes. It brought out that protectiveness he had for John Paul. He wanted to find a way to pick him up and place him out of harm’s way, because the thought of anyone wishing harm to his friend hurt him. And yet he couldn’t help but think that his precious friendship had changed because of this revelation. He knew it shouldn’t matter, but on some level, it did. It made him question the way he’d thought things were.

“And you know better than to talk about things like that here,” John Paul told Michaela, his face set in annoyance.

“Were you just never gonna tell him?” Michaela asked incredulously.

“Michaela, that is not the point, and you know it,” John Paul responded. “You are nothing but a spoilt brat.”

“John Paul,” Michaela said, clearly hurt and a little taken aback. Craig couldn’t help but think she deserved it. He’d wanted to call her worse today.

“I asked Craig to come with you because I thought it would be nice for you,” John Paul said. “He’s a decent guy, you can have a laugh with him, I thought it’d be more fun for you. I thought it’d be nice to see you without mum or Jacq being all overbearing. Like old times or summat, when the two of us were the kids and they just left us to it. But you’ve turned into a right vindictive cow, haven’t you?”

“What?” Michaela asked. “John Paul!”

“As far as I can see, all you’ve done is take advantage of Craig and treat him like crap whilst trying to find the easiest way to humiliate us both,” John Paul stated. “For all you care, you’ve just ruined the only friendship I have. Do you think it’s easy bein’ in here? Do you think I have people queuin’ up to be my mate?”

Craig’s heart was beating too fast and he felt tears prick at his eyes, but he blinked them away. He’d never heard John Paul come straight out and admit how difficult it was for him, how much he relied on this fragile friendship he held with Craig. And here he was, holding back and doubting things because John Paul was gay.

“I didn’t...” Michaela began haltingly, looking suitably chided now. “Hannah’s still your mate. And I know Kieron writes to you loads.”

John Paul sighed, his head bowing down again as though it were just too heavy for him to hold up. “That’s not the same thing, Chaela.”

His eyes flicked to Craig, as though he wished he weren’t there so he could be honest. Craig kind of wanted to hear why John Paul considered their friendship to be different. John Paul didn’t say anything else though. None of them said anything. They just sat in silence, an awkwardness settling between them.

“I’m sorry,” Michaela said eventually, her voice quiet. She looked at John Paul who met her eyes. He still looked annoyed, but his face had softened somewhat. “I didn’t think it would be _that_ big a deal,” Michaela continued. “You’ve been out for ages.”

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. “In the real world.” Craig felt that sadness again at hearing John Paul divide his life into before and after.

Another silence followed, and Craig found himself watching John Paul. His face was almost blank now as he stared down at the table and Craig wanted to know what he was thinking. He wanted to climb inside his head and grasp all of his worries, all of his insecurities, all of the things that scared him, and weed them out until there was nothing left but the good stuff. Craig wanted to know what the good stuff was to John Paul. He wanted to know the thoughts that kept him going when things were at their hardest.

He thought about the misconceptions he’d made with John Paul, the way he’d assumed things because he was a bloke. He’d talked about girls with him. He felt like an idiot for it now. But John Paul had never bothered to correct him, never suggested that he had no interest in girls and was probably more into Johnny Depp or something. He wondered now what else he’d gotten wrong about John Paul. He wondered if he really knew him as well as he thought he did. He hated having that doubt in his mind.

The silence grew, minutes dragging out, and Craig could barely stand it. He’d been so looking forward to seeing John Paul, to having a chat and a joke and getting to catch up with him properly, without having to suffer a few days silence between letters. This was worse than the days without letters. This was oppressive and uncomfortable and they were wasting valuable time. Every second seemed precious with John Paul because they had to be so carefully distributed. He decided that he had to make an effort to salvage it.

“I’ve been hanging out with Hannah and Sarah,” Craig said.

John Paul looked up at him, something like a grateful smile threatening at his lips. He seemed to relax a little, and Craig felt a swell of something like pride mixed in with relief.

“Yeah?” John Paul asked.

Craig nodded. “Yeah. Well, I’ve seen them a couple of times. Nice girls.”

“Them two?” Michaela scoffed. John Paul’s face became weary again. “Hannah’s well stuck up, and Sarah thinks she’s God’s gift or summat.”

“And you’re in no way jealous,” John Paul replied, giving her a look. Michaela turned her nose up at the suggestion.

“Do they know?” Craig asked. “I mean, about...” John Paul nodded. “Right,” Craig said. “Because they never said anything, that’s all. When I was going on about you having girls for friends and things.”

John Paul looked amused at that. “Craig, my best friends aren’t girls because...” He shook his head. “Well, I guess in a way, they are. The lads I hung out with didn’t take too kindly to my preferences, let’s put in that way. The girls were nothing but supportive. You take what you can get. It’s not like I didn’t want to be friends with lads or I didn’t get along with them in a general sense. They just stopped getting along with me.”

Craig nodded, like he understood, but he couldn’t imagine that he really did. He wasn’t good at making friends, didn’t have any mates that were really close to him, but he didn’t think he could compare that to the loneliness that John Paul must have felt when all his friends simply turned their backs on him. He couldn’t imagine anyone being so heartless.

“Not that I’m not grateful for the friends that I had,” John Paul said. “We all used to have a laugh. Talk about boys and things. Y’know.”

His lips curled into a smile as he spoke, like he was making a joke at his own expense. Craig liked seeing him being more light-hearted again. It was funny really. Craig had been talking to Hannah and Sarah about the fact that he and John Paul had discussed girls. He wasn’t sure how they’d kept a straight face.

Now that he knew what he knew, he wondered if he’d change the way he spoke to John Paul. He wondered if he should. Was it offensive to take someone’s sexuality into account when picking a topic of conversation? Was it condescending? Craig guessed that it was, but he also didn’t think that John Paul would want to talk about girls anymore. Craig thought back over previous conversations in a new light, wondering if he should have made fun of John Paul’s taste in films or his sensitive nature. All of it had been friendly teasing, and he’d never had any doubt that John Paul had known that, he’d given back as good as he got, but now he wondered if he was just being insensitive, if he was adding to years of teasing about such things.

There was one other thing too that nagged at Craig’s mind, much as he tried to push the question away. It wasn’t important, he told himself. He didn’t even have any right to ask. But he wanted to know. He kept coming back around to it and he wanted to just get it out of the way. It didn’t matter either way, he assured himself, even as he felt a tiny sense of dread before the words left his mouth.

“Am I your type?”

John Paul stared at him, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. He looked indignant at being asked and Craig wished that he could take the question back. Even Michaela looked surprised at his audacity before she turned away, taking a bite of her Kitkat Chunky and keeping herself out of it.

“What?” John Paul asked. Judging by his tone of voice, he’d clearly taken offence at the question.

“I just wondered,” Craig said.

“Because clearly I want to shag every bloke I meet, yeah?” John Paul responded.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Craig insisted.

“If I was a girl, would you ask me that question?” John Paul enquired, his voice carefully restrained.

“No,” Craig admitted. He felt a churning in his stomach. He wanted to start over.

“So why are you asking me now?” John Paul demanded. Craig just looked at him. He had no idea. “Does it bother you?” John Paul asked defensively.

“No,” Craig insisted. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Honestly, mate, I just...” He sighed, looking down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He shrugged, looking up at John Paul again, whose features seemed to have softened.

“It’s fine,” John Paul said in a tired voice, like maybe it wasn’t fine at all, but he was just past caring. “I just think it’s kind of irrelevant whether you are or you aren’t. It’s not like I can ever have anything like that anyway. It’s like a priest, he takes a vow of celibacy, so it doesn’t matter whether he’s gay or he’s straight, doesn’t matter who he likes, because it wouldn’t happen. It can’t happen. That’s kind of my life now. So it’s irrelevant.”

“John Paul, it’s not irrelevant,” Craig assured him.

John Paul gave him a look. “You really want to know that badly?”

“I...” Craig began haltingly. He sighed, trying to find the right words. “Don’t write yourself off, that’s all I mean. You’re not a priest yet.”

John Paul looked at him, something warm and thankful in his gaze that made Craig smile.

“Do you two mind, I’m tryin’ to eat,” Michaela piped up, still looking the other way.

“I’m still brassed off with you,” John Paul told her.

Michaela turned to look at him, somehow managing to look surprised and a little hurt by this news. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” John Paul replied. “I know you don’t really mean any harm, Chaela, but for once in your life, could you just try thinkin’ before you speak.”

“Doubt it,” she replied. “Don’t worry, he’s still dotin’ on you, int he?”

“Don’t push your luck,” John Paul warned her. “Why don’t you put your gobby mouth to good use and give me all the goss on the family that no one else wants me to know about, ay?”

Michaela smiled. “Our Mercedes has got a new fella. Not that she’ll admit he’s her fella.”

“Yeah?” John Paul asked. “Go on.”

Craig watched the two of them bond over pulling apart their siblings, and he got the impression that they’d always been close. Like it had maybe always been them against everyone else. It couldn’t have been easy being the youngest of that many siblings, so Craig imagined they would have had to stick together to a certain degree. Craig had always kind of assumed that John Paul was closest to Carmel, because of the way she looked out for him, the fact that she apparently visited the most, but he now got the distinct impression that Michaela was the sister that John Paul was closest with, had spent more time with, had the stronger bond with.

John Paul and Carmel were irrevocably bonded over that night, there was no doubt about that, but he felt like maybe John Paul and Michaela’s bond went deeper. It was clearly based on happier times, and Craig couldn’t help but admit that John Paul needed something like that. Through the visit he even started to maybe warm to Michaela a little himself.

Once John Paul and Michaela had finished gossiping about their siblings, the three of them chatted together, about music and films and life. Craig talked about uni and Michaela talked about school. The time went by quickly and Craig was glad that the awkwardness seemed to have dissipated, no more heavy silences falling upon them.

“Hey, you know what, you never gave me your half of the wager,” John Paul said suddenly.

Craig looked at him. “What?”

“The fantasy football,” John Paul said. “When you replied to my letter you were too busy trying to be nice about my sister to actually respond to anything I said. I gave you my terms. You gotta name yours.”

“Right,” Craig said, remembering the letter and how much he’d smiled at John Paul’s forfeit for him. It was quite fitting somehow. He almost hoped that he’d lose, just so that he could see which books John Paul was planning on picking out for him. “Okay,” he said. “If I win, you have to tell me what your favourite book is.”

John Paul stared at him for a moment. “That’s it?”

Craig shrugged. “That’s it.”

John Paul smiled, seeming amused. “You could just ask one of my sisters if you really want to know.”

Craig shook his head. “I want you to tell me.”

John Paul nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

Michaela looked between them. “You’re both as sad as each other. No wonder you get on so well.”

“And, as delightful as _your_ company is,” John Paul replied, “Looks like our time’s up.”

Michaela made a disappointed tutting noise. “Mum’s not gonna let me come again for ages.”

“Not if I tell her what a cow you’ve been,” John Paul agreed. Michaela looked almost stricken. John Paul smiled at her. “I’ll tell her you were good as gold.”

“You’re well soft,” Michaela told him. “You’ll never last in here.”

“I’m doin’ okay actually,” John Paul assured her. There was something sincere in his voice, like he was offering her genuine comfort. Craig found it so endearing. John Paul got to his feet, stepping to the side of the table. “Alright, c’mere.”

Michaela smiled at him and stood up, wrapping her arms easily around his waist and squeezing tight as he held her there. Craig watched as John Paul’s eyes closed for a moment and he just seemed to revel in something so simple as a hug from his little sister. Something that he’d barely ever get the chance to do anymore.

“Be good,” he told her.

“Can’t I just be careful?” Michaela teased.

“Be both,” John Paul responded.

Michaela smiled and pulled back. “I haven’t gone totally off the rails in your absence, y’know.”

John Paul let go of her. “You were never on the rails, sweetheart.” He turned to Craig who found himself standing up under John Paul’s attention. “Thank you for doing this,” John Paul said. “I think you might be an actual hero.”

Craig smiled, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. He felt embarrassed by the praise. “Was nice to see you,” he responded with a shrug.

“Nice to see you too,” John Paul returned. “I promise I won’t lump you with her next time.”

Craig nodded, meeting John Paul’s eyes as they shared a smile. He took an awkward step forward, not really sure why he was moving closer to John Paul, only knowing that’s where his feet were taking him.

“I’ll see you then,” he said.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed.

Craig took another step forward. John Paul watched him, making an effort, Craig thought, to keep his face carefully neutral. One more step took him into John Paul’s personal space and he lifted his arms slightly, raising his eyebrows in some kind of question. John Paul looked surprised and somewhat bemused, but he seemed to shrug it off as he pulled Craig into a blokey hug. Craig was glad that he took the initiative, because he would probably have stood there in front of him until the guards came to drag him away.

They slapped each other on the back in a show of brotherly affection rather than anything that could be considered tender, but it didn’t stop Craig from getting John Paul’s scent trapped in his nostrils. He smelt clean, like soap, and homey, like something so familiar, and just a little bit musky with what was probably the real John Paul underneath. He was warm and comforting and, even though they pulled apart practically as soon as they’d joined together, Craig managed to savour it.

Maybe hugging your gay best friend wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to do, but Craig had a great affection for John Paul, and the closer he got, the closer he wanted to be. He just hoped John Paul didn’t read his signals wrong or think he was leading him on. Best friends hugged. If Craig had any say in it, John Paul was definitely his best friend.

As he and Michaela made their way across the visiting hall, Craig fought with the urge to turn around and take a final look at John Paul. That would definitely be sending the wrong signal, he decided.

“I saw you trying to touch my brother up,” Michaela said casually.

“Do you want me to go back and tell him that you use his decks?” Craig responded.

Michaela gave him a look. “I don’t know what he sees in you.”

“I don’t know what he sees in you,” Craig returned.

Playing Michaela at her own game seemed to be the only thing that shut her up. Craig thought that, with that knowledge, the train journey back might not be a total nightmare.

In the end, Michaela bought a newspaper at the train station and spent most of the return journey buried in it. It seemed strange to Craig. She seemed more like a _Heat_ girl, or at least _The Sun._ Reading a real newspaper with real news stories seemed completely out of character.

“Need any help with the big words?” he asked, finding himself bored in the silence.

“Get lost,” she responded.

“Just doesn’t seem your cup of tea, that’s all,” Craig said.

“Oi,” Michaela said. “I’m a journalist, I’ll have you know. Need to keep up with current events and all that.”

“You’re a journalist?” Craig asked incredulously. Somehow he couldn’t quite picture it.

“Well, kind of,” Michaela said. “Sold some stories. Gonna be a proper journalist when I get older.”

“That what you want to study at uni then?” Craig asked.

“Yeah,” Michaela replied. “They’ve got some dead good courses in London I’ve been lookin’ at. It’s kind of far away though. It’s already a right pain tryin’ to get to see John Paul.”

Craig felt sad for her. He remembered what John Paul had said about being a burden to his family. He hadn’t quite considered what it would be like for them to always have to consider him when they made a decision in their own lives.

“I don’t think John Paul would like the thought of holding you back,” Craig told her.

“No, he’d hate it,” Michaela agreed. “But I’d miss him like mad.”

“It’ll only be a few years,” Craig offered.

“Suppose,” Michaela agreed, but she sounded anything but convinced. She put down the newspaper and reached into her handbag, pulling out her purse. She held some money out towards Craig. “For the train ticket,” she said. “Mum gave it to me. I was gonna nick it, but I guess I’m just nickin’ from you really, so have it.”

Craig shook his head. “Keep it.”

“Stop bein’ so bloody nice to me,” Michaela complained. “I don’t deserve it. Just take the money.”

“Keep it,” Craig said again. “I don’t mind paying. I’m glad I could help you and John Paul see each other. For some reason he seems quite fond of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michaela said. “He’s not right in the ‘ead, that one.” She smiled at him and shoved her money back in her purse. “Thanks. I’ll buy summat useful.”

“Don’t,” Craig told her. “Buy something frivolous. I think we could all do with a little more frivolity in our lives.”

Michaela looked at him for a moment. “You’re not right in the ‘ead either, are you?”

Craig smiled at her. “No,” he said. “I’m really not.”

Michaela nodded and picked up her newspaper again, quickly become engrossed. Craig read snippets over her shoulder, knowing that, if he was starting to feel a fondness for Michaela, he was definitely in way over his head with the McQueens.


	10. Chapter 10

_Craig_

 _I feel like I should probably explain a few things to you. I don’t want to be condescending, and I really don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I feel like maybe we need to put a few things out there. I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve been hiding things, I could understand it if you did, but it’s not really as simple as that. My sexuality isn’t all that I am and I don’t think I should be expected to go around telling every person that I meet, like it cancels out every other aspect of my personality. Which doesn’t mean that I’m ashamed of it, because I’m actually really not. The only reason I hide it now is because of the situation that I’m in. And maybe I’m slightly wary of giving people the benefit of the doubt anymore. I hope that you can appreciate that. It’s honestly no reflection whatsoever on you._

 _Obviously, I didn’t really want you to find out in the way that you did. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t want you to find out. I wasn’t deliberately keeping you in the dark. I just don’t want you to think that I had some kind of ulterior motive for not telling you. I don’t want you to feel like I was keeping secrets. I value our friendship. I wouldn’t lie to you. I hope you don’t feel hurt or misled that I kind of neglected to tell you this certain little thing about me. And it really is a little thing. I hope that you get that._

 _Then there’s the thing that straight blokes always seem to worry about when they find out that a bloke’s gay. It’s why the question of whether or not you were my type made me so uncomfortable. Just because I’m into blokes, doesn’t mean I’m after anything more than what we’ve had. All I’ve ever wanted you to be is my friend. I’m under no misconceptions about the fact that you’re straight. Please don’t let this be weird._

 _I’m just aware that you didn’t find this out in the best of circumstances and I hate the fact that it was just thrown at you like that. I hate the fact that we couldn’t talk about it because of where we were. If you do have any questions, if you want to know anything, just write back and I’ll be more than willing to answer. I think I owe you that. I know that you seemed reasonably cool with the whole thing, for which I am very grateful, but if there’s any doubts, anything you’re wondering about, I want to be open. This is my sensitive side at work._

 _Which, by the way, has nothing to do with the gayness and everything to do with having five sisters. And I know what you’re thinking, none of my sisters are sensitive, but they do have their moments. There’s a lot under the surface with us McQueens, as I’m sure you’re beginning to realise. Just don’t think that any of this stuff is off limits and please don’t think that anything has to change. I know how these things go. I hope you’re more mature than the idiots I went to school with. I’m sure that you are. None of this has to be a big deal, because it’s really not, but I wanted to write this letter anyway. I wanted to make sure that it didn’t become a big deal. Just know that you can talk to me about any of that stuff if you ever want to. The offer’s always there._

 _John Paul_

*

Craig felt stuck. For the second time, he was entirely unable to respond to John Paul’s letter, not because he didn’t want to, but because he had no idea what to say. It made him feel lonely and cut off, not being able to talk to his friend. It was like a wall had been thrown up between them, stopping the lines of communication, and it was all because Craig couldn’t find the right words. It left him with a gnawing sense of hopelessness at the fact that John Paul was so far removed from his life. But he wasn’t sure even that was as bad as everything else that was going around in his head.

When Craig had gotten back from visiting John Paul at the prison, he’d gone up to his room and he’d laid back on his bed. He’d breathed in through his nostrils and let himself remember John Paul’s scent, the warmth his body had held, the way being in his arms had made Craig feel something like complete. A contented smile had crept its way onto Craig’s lips until he suddenly caught himself. His eyes went wide and his stomach clenched and he wondered if maybe he’d been doing this all along. It couldn’t possibly have come out of nowhere. And yet, that was very much how it felt.

Craig wasn’t gay. He was absolutely, one hundred percent positive that he wasn’t gay. That wasn’t the issue. He didn’t like blokes. He’d never looked at a man and found him attractive, never had any kind of sexual feelings, or even ponderings, towards someone of the same sex. It had never even occurred to him. And that wasn’t how he felt about John Paul either. It wasn’t like he wanted to kiss him or... anything. He’d just enjoyed hugging him. Enjoyed being close to him, physically. And maybe it made him feel warm inside and maybe the possibility of doing it again was lingering in his mind, but it wasn’t sexual. It didn’t turn Craig on. It was just the intimacy, that was all it was. It was just another part of their friendship.

But if that was true, if that was really all there was to it, shouldn’t Craig have stopped questioning it by now? He wondered if he’d have ever thought to question it at all if he hadn’t found out that John Paul was gay. He’d always known that everything between he and John Paul had happened quickly, that they’d become closer friends quicker than they would have done out in the real world, and he’d accepted that, even if the speed at which his depth of feelings had grown had always kind of made his head spin. His friendship with John Paul kind of meant the world to him, and it was made all the more intense for the situation that they were in. Everything between them was so valuable because it wasn’t easy and none of it could be taken for granted.

Craig worried for John Paul, Craig cared about John Paul, Craig wanted to help John Paul, wanted to drag him out of that place, for both of their sakes. Sometimes it physically hurt to think about what he was going through. Sometimes he felt like he was going through it right alongside him. But Craig wasn’t gay. Of that he was certain. So why couldn’t he simply accept John Paul’s sexuality for what it was and move on?

After three days of tying himself in knots over just what it meant that he liked the way John Paul smelt and sort of couldn’t live without him, he got John Paul’s letter, and everything seemed to get a hundred times worse. Craig couldn’t respond, not with all of the self-doubt clouding his mind. He had no problem with John Paul being gay. He had no questions that he wanted to ask. The only thing that he really wanted to know was what the hell his own feelings meant. Somehow he couldn’t quite write them off.

With a heavy sigh, he folded the letter carefully back up and replaced it to the envelope, adding it to the neat stack that he kept on his desk. He looked at the pile and he wanted to cry. He wanted John Paul, not the stack of paper that was in front of him. He wanted his life to stop being so fucking complicated. He tried to think back to simpler times, but he actually came up blank. He was certain that that was a very bad sign.

He decided that he needed to get some air. He needed to get out of this room that was haunted by John Paul and his own clouded thoughts. He needed to just think about something else for a while.

Walking through the village, he saw Steph behind the counter at Mobs, cutting up fruit. He headed over, happy for the easy distraction of a chat with his sister. He was fairly sure being alone in the flat was only adding to his current state of mind.

“Thought you weren’t working today,” Craig stated.

“Wasn’t supposed to be,” Steph agreed, looking rather unimpressed. “Someone called in sick so I had to fill in.”

“Where’s Tom then?” Craig asked.

“He’s with Niall,” Steph replied easily, concentrating on what she was doing.

Craig felt himself tense. “Niall?” he asked incredulously. “You’ve left Tom with Niall?”

“Yeah,” Steph replied, looking at him strangely. “Why? What’s the problem?”

“I was at home,” Craig said. “I would’ve done it.”

“I know,” Steph replied. “I just figured you’d be doing work for uni or something. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother,” Craig insisted. “Steph, you know I’d watch him.”

“Look, it’s not a bother for Niall either,” Steph said. “He offered. He was right there.”

“Well, I’ll go get him now,” Craig said. “Where’s Niall taken him?”

“Back to his flat,” Steph replied. “But just leave them, Craig.”

Craig shook his head. He didn’t trust Niall at the best of times, but he definitely didn’t trust him to look after Tom. The situation seemed to have disaster written all over it. Worst case scenarios kept popping into his head and it gave him a horrible sense of foreboding.

“I’ll go and pick him up, take him back to the flat,” Craig said, taking a couple of steps away.

“Craig, don’t,” Steph told him.

Craig looked at her. “Why not?”

“I want them to get to know each other a bit better. Bond a little,” Steph said. “I mean, if me and Niall are going to be... spending time together.”

“Spending time together?” Craig repeated, giving her a look.

“Don’t you start,” Steph complained. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side,” Craig insisted. “It’s Niall’s side I’m not on.”

“Craig, just...”

“I’ll see you later,” Craig replied quickly as he turned to walk away.

Knocking on the door to Niall’s flat filled Craig with a sense of dread. He told himself that he was being ridiculous. It wasn’t even the fact that he’d killed someone that made him seem scary to Craig. What John Paul had done was far worse really, far more brutal, and yet he’d never seemed scary to Craig. He’d never seemed like anything but a genuine, fragile human being. There was something quite beautiful in that. Niall, on the other hand, had barely shown a shred of remorse for what he’d done to Max and he always seemed to have a certain secretive quality about him, like he had something to hide. Craig wasn’t sure what it was, but it unnerved him. He got a definite Norman Bates vibe from the guy.

Niall opened his door, seeming surprised to see Craig, but he soon plastered one of those supposedly friendly smiles onto his face. “Craig,” he greeted. “You alright, mate?”

“Just come to get Tom,” Craig replied, trying not to cringe at the fact that Niall insisted on calling him ‘mate’. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Steph finished already, has she?” Niall asked.

“No, she’s still at Mobs,” Craig told him. “I just thought I should take him home. We wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nah, no imposition, mate,” Niall dismissed. “I don’t mind holding onto him for a while longer. We’ve been having fun.”

At this point, something like alarm bells started to ring in Craig’s head. Niall was reluctant to hand Tom over and Craig hadn’t actually seen Tom yet. All he’d seen was Niall guardedly holding the door close to himself and making excuses. He was just the kind of person who’d bury someone under a patio.

Craig took a breath. His imagination was seriously running away with him. He had to stop this. He knew that he needed a distraction, but he was just making mountains out of molehills now. Still, he had to admit it was easier than trying to make sense of his feelings for John Paul.

“Where is Tom?” Craig asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Just setting up a little game for us,” Niall responded, the words somehow seeming ominous. But then he opened the door wider and Craig could see Tom behind Niall. He was kneeling down at the coffee table, building something from cds and books, his Max Mission action figure by the side, apparently at the ready.

“Tom,” Craig called. “Get your things together, we’re going to go home.”

Tom looked up at him. “I want to stay here. We’re having fun.”

“Sorry, mate,” Niall said, the beginnings of a smug smile on his face. Craig felt his hand clench into a fist.

“Tom, come on, now.”

“Niall’s going to play Max Mission with me,” Tom said, entirely focused on what he was doing.

“I can drop him back later,” Niall offered. “Unless Steph wants to come by for him.”

“I’m here now,” Craig replied, practically pushing past Niall to get into the flat. He felt like Niall was using Tom as bait and the prospect gave him an unpleasant feeling at the pit of his stomach. “Tom, come on, we have to go.”

“Why?” Tom asked. “Niall said he doesn’t mind.”

“I know, but...” Craig stalled realising he had no argument. He could hardly say that he didn’t trust Niall or that he had a bad feeling about him looking after Tom. He reached down, picking up Tom’s Max Mission before looking around. “What else do you have?”

“Craig,” Tom complained. “I want to stay.”

“Well, you can’t,” Craig replied, a little too harshly. “We’re leaving. Where’s the rest of your stuff? Did you have anything else?”

“Look, Craig, I really don’t mind,” Niall said quietly. “Let him stay.”

“We’re leaving,” Craig said again, looking Niall in the eye and letting him know that there was no room for negotiation. Niall looked carefully at Craig and then slowly nodded his agreement. He went over to pick up Tom’s bag, holding it out to Craig. “Thanks,” Craig said. “Tom. Come on.”

Tom looked at Craig, a pout on his lips, his eyes filled with disappointment. Craig felt bad, but he wasn’t backing down. There was no way he was leaving Tom alone with Niall. He didn’t mean to make Tom feel bad in the process though. Tom then turned his attention to Niall.

“We’ll do it another time,” Niall promised.

Craig kind of hated Niall in that moment, the way he was so accepting and understanding and gracious. Craig should be the one making Tom feel better, not him. Tom nodded and walked over to Craig, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped. He was like a mini version of how Craig felt.

“How’s John Paul?” Niall asked as they stepped out of the door. Craig turned to face him, a questioning look on his face. “Steph mentioned you went to see him last week,” Niall explained.

“He’s alright,” Craig replied.

Niall nodded. “The things I could tell you about that kid.”

Craig didn’t like the way that he said it. Somehow, it sounded like a threat. Craig once again found himself wondering just what John Paul had been doing hanging around Niall’s flat. Judging by the challenging look on Niall’s face, Craig wasn’t going to like the answer.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Right you are,” Niall agreed. “We can talk another time.”

Craig nodded in response, but he sincerely hoped it was a talk he’d never have to have.

Once they got back to the flat, Tom threw himself down on the sofa, clearly in full-on strop mode now. It was something that Craig recognised well from both Steph and Debbie. He sighed and sat down beside him, putting Tom’s things down on the table. Tom reached out, snatching Max Mission and sitting back with him.

“What do you want to do then?” Craig asked.

“No one cares what I want to do,” Tom muttered.

“What?” Craig asked.

Tom suddenly turned to face him. “None of you ever care what I want to do,” he stated loudly. “You only want to play with me when it’s your computer games. And Steph’s always too busy. She’d rather work than play with me.”

“That’s not true,” Craig said.

“You both feel guilty that Max is dead, that’s the only reason you care,” Tom insisted. Craig shook his head. He couldn’t stand to hear Tom talk like that. It was just too sad. “Niall _wanted_ to play with me. And you ruined it. You ruin everything. You only care about your things. Everyone here only cares about themselves. None of you care about me.”

“Tom...” Craig appealed.

“I hate you,” Tom said, jumping to his feet and running up the stairs.

Craig sagged back on the sofa. He could be such an insensitive twat. Tom had a friend after everything he’d been through and Craig had practically dragged him out of there, kicking and screaming, without even giving a reason. But Craig had a reason. Tom might trust Niall, but he was too naive to see what Craig could see. Craig was protecting him. But he had no way of explaining that to Tom without alienating him even further. Niall had very cleverly turned himself into an ally, acting so earnest and friendly, that Craig would have a hard time convincing Tom he was anything but his new best friend.

But that wasn’t the issue, Craig reminded himself. Tom felt sidetracked. He felt like a burden. It broke Craig’s heart. He could see where the idea had come from though. He and Steph were busy a lot, and maybe they weren’t making quite as big an effort as they used to to keep Tom happy and take his mind off things. Craig, especially, knew that his mind was often absent nowadays. He’d gotten so caught up with John Paul that a lot of other things had fallen by the wayside. He didn’t mean for Tom to become one of those things.

He gave Tom some time to cool down and then went up to his room, knocking tentatively on his door. There was no response. He knocked again.

“Tom? Can I come in?”

“If you have to,” Tom responded moodily.

Craig smiled slightly at that, pushing the door open. Tom was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, holding his Max Mission in his hands and gazing down at him. Craig stepped into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Tom asked, not looking up.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” Craig said. “I thought we were mates.”

Tom just shrugged. Craig moved over to him, sitting on the bed, but still giving him his space. Tom still didn’t look at him.

“These last few months,” Craig said, “They haven’t been easy on any of us. And I don’t mean for that to take away from what you’ve been through. I know how much you must miss Max.”

“You don’t know,” Tom replied. He wasn’t being pedantic, just honest.

“Okay, maybe I don’t,” Craig accepted. “But I know how much it hurt me when my dad left.”

“Everyone leaves me,” Tom said. “I don’t have any family left.”

“You’ve got Steph,” Craig said. “And you’ve got me. We’re your family now.”

Tom finally looked up at him for the first time, a mixture of hope and sadness in his eyes. It was like he was pleading with Craig, asking for some promise that would make him feel safe and secure. It was all anyone ever wanted really. Someone to always be there, no matter what. Something unconditional. Craig wasn’t really sure if unconditional existed, but it was what he hoped for; something that couldn’t be changed by time or distance or the turning of the earth. Something that always held hope.

His mind settled briefly on John Paul at that thought, and it no longer seemed to surprise him that his thoughts would take him there. He didn’t let himself dwell or try to work it out. Now wasn’t the time.

“We’re not going anywhere, Tom,” he said. It was a promise that would possibly come back to bite him, but, for now, he meant it. He just hoped that was enough. “I know that there have been a lot of changes, for all of us, and maybe we’re still finding our roles a little, but we’re doing our best here. Steph is doing the best she can. And considering she hasn’t killed any of us with her cooking yet, I’d say she’s doing a pretty good job.” Tom almost smiled at that. Craig called it a small victory. “Just cut her some slack every so often. She’s missing Max too.” Tom nodded. “And I thought you liked playing computer games with me.”

“I do,” Tom agreed. “But not all the time. You never play any of my games.”

“Sorry,” Craig offered. “I’m not used to all this. I guess I thought I was doing okay. Come on, you tell me what you want to play. You want to play with Max Mission?”

Tom looked down at the action figure in his hands. “I’m sorry I said I hate you. I don’t really hate you.”

“I know you don’t, mate,” Craig assured him. Tom still looked guilty and unconvinced. “Come here,” Craig said, pulling Tom into a hug. Tom accepted it for a few moments, seeming to soften in his embrace, and then he shrugged his way out, giving Craig a ‘hugs are gross’ look that made Craig smile. “Hey, you want to get all the extra bedding out and build a den?”

“Steph’d kill us,” Tom said.

Craig gave him a mischievous grin. “Steph’s not here.”

*

“What’s going on in here?” Steph asked.

“We made a den,” Tom said, sticking his head out and giving her a triumphant smile.

“Yeah, and it’s no girls allowed,” Craig added, going to join Tom at the entrance.

Steph crouched down in front of them. “Could you not make an exception for me?”

Tom pursed his lips, seeming to think very hard on it for a moment. “I suppose,” he finally replied. Steph smiled, moving forwards. “But no heels,” he said.

Steph rolled her eyes, sitting to pull her shoes off. Tom moved out of the way and let her crawl inside. She looked at the pillows and cushions that lined the floor, the sheets that were thrown over various things to make a fabric ceiling, and the string of Christmas lights that Craig had dug out of a box of decorations to string up around the den. They had a stash of snacks and comics in one corner, all guarded by Max Mission.

“Wow,” Steph said. “Looks like you boys have been busy.”

“Industrious types like us, it didn’t take long,” Craig stated.

“He kept making it fall down,” Tom told Steph, nodding towards Craig. Steph gave Craig an amused look.

“Yeah, well, we got there in the end,” Craig grumbled.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Tom asked timidly.

“Course not,” Steph replied. “Why would I be mad? This is awesome. I’m impressed.”

Tom smiled at her. “Do you want a cookie?”

Steph grinned back. “Love one.”

“Hang on a minute,” Craig said. “First you invite a girl into our den, then you give her cookies? What happened to our rules?”

“Steph’s different,” Tom told him.

“Hear that,” Steph said proudly. “I’m _different_.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Craig agreed. Steph gave him a look before grabbing a cushion and hitting him with it. “Hey,” Craig objected. “The den is a place of peace, not war.”

Steph and Tom exchanged a look, and then Tom grabbed a cushion too, both of them attacking Craig in a fit of giggles.

*

Once Tom had gone to bed, Craig laid back on the cushions in the den, staring up at the tiny bulbs of the fairy lights. It was so relaxing, hidden away in there, no distractions or troubles from the outside world. He could believe that things were easy when he was laid in there, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth in reality. Nothing was easy. But it was nice to pretend for a while.

“Am I allowed back in?” Steph asked.

Craig raised his head up, looking at her as she peered through the entrance. “You promise not to start another pillow fight?” he asked.

“Promise,” Steph agreed, nodding solemnly.

Craig gave her a smile, motioning for her to enter. “Come on.”

Steph crawled back inside and settled herself beside him. “This place is so cool,” she said.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed.

“You guys did a good job.”

Craig turned his head to look at her. “Tom’s had a bit of a bad day.”

Steph turned to face him, concern written over her features. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been missing Max,” Craig replied. Steph looked back up at the lights, her eyes seeming to glisten slightly now. “I’m sorry,” Craig said. “I thought you should know.”

Steph nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I think he’s just feeling a little left out,” Craig said. “We have our own things going on. He was upset that no one ever asked what he wanted to do.”

“I should make more time for him,” Steph said.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Craig told her. “You do so much for him. It’s my fault anyway. I’ll make more of an effort.”

Steph turned to face him again. “Are you alright, anyway?”

“What?”

“You’ve been all distant and worried looking all week,” Steph told him. “Are you alright?”

Craig sighed. It was his turn to stare up at the lights. “I’m not sure.”

“You want to talk about it?” Steph offered.

“Not really,” Craig replied. “Just something I have to work out.”

“Well, I’m a willing ear if you ever need one,” Steph told him.

Craig smiled at her. “Thank you.”

*

Craig rested his head down on his desk and stared at the pile of letters. He wanted to read every one of them again and search them for clues. He wanted to know if he’d always felt like this, if he’d had these thoughts before he’d found out that John Paul was gay, or if he was simply reading too much into a simple friendship now that he knew.

These weren’t the letters that would help him though. The letters that he needed to go through with a fine toothed comb were the letters that he’d written himself. Those were the ones that would show the progress of his feelings. But they were all written by hand and so he had no copies. All he had to go on was his fallible memory of how he thought he felt. Considering he didn’t even know how he felt now, that wasn’t really much to go on.

This was driving him insane. Why did it even bother him? If he wasn’t gay, then he wasn’t having these feelings for John Paul. It was just friendship. It was just the fact that he was so starved of contact with his best friend that he was reading too much into the smallest of things. If they were friends under normal circumstances, then he’d know exactly what John Paul smelt like, he’d be used to his scent. That was the only reason he’d savoured it so much. It was another thing to make John Paul familiar to him, like a best friend should be familiar. But Craig’s insane logic wasn’t even convincing himself, so he knew there had to be more to it than that.

He turned his head to the side and caught sight of something else on his desk. Peeping out from under some notes on the final assignment of his second year at college was a beer mat. A beer mat with Sarah’s phone number on it. Craig reached out, picking it up and looking it over. Sarah’s number. He hadn’t even bothered to put it into his phone. A fit girl liked him, and Craig had looked the other way. What had happened to him? When had he stopped feeling the right things for the right people?

He pushed away the thought of right and wrong. That wasn’t a fair way to think about it. There was nothing right or wrong in being gay, nothing right or wrong with John Paul’s preferences. He wasn’t a homophobe. Maybe he didn’t entirely get it, but he was of the persuasion of live and let live. Each to their own. So why was he so scared of those possibilities in himself?

He thought back to the night he’d kissed Sarah. It was so long since he’d kissed anyone that he should have been doing backwards somersaults, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember feeling much of anything, if he was honest. And that thought scared him. Maybe this had been going on for much longer than he realised. Maybe he hadn’t had a girlfriend because he didn’t like girls.

The idea seemed ludicrous. Craig almost laughed, but he felt a little sick. He wasn’t gay. He was sure he wasn’t gay. But maybe it wouldn’t do any harm to check. Or to prove it. He wasn’t even sure anymore, but he was reaching for his mobile and keying in Sarah’s number.

“Hello?”

“Is that Sarah?”

“Yeah,” she responded, sounding slightly wary.

“Hi, it’s Craig.”

“Craig?” she asked. “Yeah, I think I remember you from the distant past.”

Craig screwed his eyes up in embarrassment. He couldn’t deny that he deserved that. He really needed to get on her good side right now though.

“Sarah, I am so sorry.”

“Are you?” she asked, sounding like she could care less. Craig knew that he deserved that too.

“Let me make it up to you,” he appealed.

“You assume I’m still single and sitting around waiting for you?” Sarah responded.

“You’re not?” Craig asked. “Single, I mean.”

“That depends,” Sarah replied, her voice seeming to warm up to him slightly. “What are you offering?”

“Let me take you out to dinner,” Craig said. “And a movie. Is that clichéd? Whatever you want. I’ll pay.”

“Yeah, you will,” Sarah agreed. “You free next Friday?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Craig told her.

“Don’t be late,” Sarah warned, before hanging up the phone.

Craig put his mobile down and wondered why he wasn’t excited. This was unfair, to everyone involved. He was trying to prove a point to himself, and he was using other people to do it. He kind of hated himself already. He thought he’d probably hate himself more if he turned out to be wrong. If the date didn’t prove to him that he liked girls, he’d undoubtedly be even more lost than before.

Part of him didn’t even want to take the risk. He could just stay in blissful ignorance. But there was nothing blissful about his current state of mind. If he wanted to get his friendship back on track with John Paul, he needed to stop questioning this. He needed to know, one way or another.

Maybe this was selfish, Machiavellian, ends justify the means, but he couldn’t let this thing with John Paul slip away because he was having some kind of identity crisis. It meant too much. And maybe that was his answer right there, if he was willing to see it. Craig knew that he wouldn’t believe it until he put it to the test though. Not when there was so much at stake.


	11. Chapter 11

_John Paul_

 _You’ve got nothing to worry about, mate. I’m not going to deny that I was surprised when I found out, or that it maybe took me a little while to get used to the idea, it did kind of come out of nowhere, but it’s not something that I have a problem with. I lived with someone last year who was, well, a bit of everything to be honest. He slept with blokes and girls, wore skirts, very flamboyant. You don’t seem like a skirt wearer, so I’m sure we’ll be fine._

 _I don’t really know what else to say about it all. I was maybe a little hurt initially that you thought you couldn’t tell me, but I do understand why. From what you’ve told me about the whole thing, it makes sense. I get it. So, unless it’s something that you want to talk about, which is cool, I guess that’s it. It’s certainly not something I’d fall out with you over. I am glad that I know though. It’ll stop me putting my foot in it quite so much. That could only be a good thing, right?_

 _I’ll speak to you later  
Craig_

*

Craig looked over the letter. It wasn’t really the truth. Or, rather, it wasn’t the _whole_ truth. It was more of a placeholder really, something to tide John Paul over. Craig hated the way that sounded. He just didn’t want to leave John Paul sitting around, waiting on some letter and worrying that Craig hated him. Craig didn’t hate him. Craig was a very long way from hating him. Everything he’d said about his feelings towards John Paul and his sexuality were honest. It was Craig’s feelings about himself that he was hiding. He wasn’t ready to go into that. Not yet. In four days time, he had a date with Sarah. In five days time, he hoped he’d have some answers.

*

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Steph asked.

Craig looked down at himself. He’d spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out which shirt to wear and, after several changes and much deliberation, he finally thought he looked alright. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m teasing,” Steph said, grinning at him. Craig gave her an unamused look. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. He looked down again, smoothing out the material and fussing with the hem.

“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?” Steph said, her tone softer now.

Craig just shrugged. He was nervous, but not particularly about the date itself. It was everything that rested on this one night, all the significance that he’d put on it. He was nervous about just what he was going to find out about himself, and whether he was going to like it or not.

“Well, I suppose it’s been a while for you,” Steph mused. “Scared you’ll have forgotten how to do it?”

Craig gave her a look. “You know, if I wanted someone to make fun of me, I would’ve gone to see Darren.”

“Don’t do that,” Steph told him. “He’ll dress you up like a pimp.” She took in Craig’s tense posture and sighed, rolling her eyes. “Will you relax? You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed half-heartedly. He wasn’t even convincing himself.

*

Standing outside Sarah’s front door, Craig reminded himself that it was just a date. He pushed away thoughts of prison and hugs and something that closely resembled longing. He couldn’t let that be what tonight was about. It wouldn’t be fair, for anyone involved. He just had to knock on Sarah’s door and take her out for a nice meal and see what happened. Simple as that.

Sarah answered the door quickly, like she’d been waiting for him, and Craig was tempted to check his watch to see if he was late. Then he figured that she was probably just excited. Or trying to get to him before a member of her family tried to open the door instead. He wondered idly if she was potentially more embarrassed by him or them.

“Hi,” she greeted, a smile on her face, which Craig took as a good sign.

She was wearing a very short skirt with a fancy, almost complicated looking top, both of which showed off her amazing figure. Craig looked her up and down without even thinking about it. He definitely felt something sexual towards that body. He took that as a very good sign.

“Hi,” he responded, feeling his confidence growing slightly. “You look really nice.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said, pulling her handbag a little more securely over her shoulder, a gesture that seemed almost nervous. “So do you.” Craig shrugged, glancing over his clothes again. “Where are you taking me, then?” she asked, stepping out of the door and closing it behind herself.

“Well, I was going to take you to Il Gnosh,” Craig began. “But then I thought you might prefer to go into town. It’s up to you really. What do you fancy?”

“Il Gnosh is fine,” Sarah told him. “I’d probably prefer that than trekking into town, to be honest.”

“Yeah, those shoes don’t look like they were designed for walking in,” Craig agreed as they started down the stairs.

“These?” she asked, nodding downwards. “You should see some of the stuff they stick me in for photo shoots. Oh, and, by the way, I’m having three courses. You still owe me.”

“Didn’t think models ate three courses,” Craig remarked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting on my good side?” Sarah commented, but she looked more playful than annoyed.

Craig smiled at her, opening the door to the restaurant. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you,” she replied, stepping inside.

They sat down at a table and picked up their menus, looking them over. All of the meals were familiar, because Craig was used to coming here with Steph and Tom, but it felt different being here with Sarah. It felt nice, actually. A normal way to spend a Friday night. Normal was exactly what Craig had been craving lately.

The waiter came over to take their drinks orders. “I’m useless at wine,” Sarah said, looking over the extensive wine list. “Just a glass of house white, I suppose.”

“Hang on,” Craig told the waiter, stalling the pen from reaching his pad. He held his hand out to Sarah. “Here, let me. I picked up a thing or two from living in a pub.”

Sarah passed him the list and he picked out a white wine that he knew was good, ordering them a bottle to share. Sarah smiled at him, seeming impressed, and Craig thought that it wasn’t a bad start for a rambling idiot.

They ordered their starters and main courses and Craig started to relax a bit. It was all a little nervous and awkward, but first dates were supposed to be nervous and awkward, he reminded himself. There was nothing wrong with worrying about the impression you were making or what you were saying or whether you were making a plonker out of yourself. All of that was normal. Especially when you had a pretty girl like Sarah sitting in front of you.

They chatted as they ate and Craig enjoyed her company, just like Sarah seemed to be enjoying his. He found himself having fun, and all ulterior motives disappeared from his mind. He wasn’t pretending and he wasn’t forcing it. Whatever it was he was feeling, it was real. There was something so entirely comforting about that fact after everything he’d been putting himself through lately.

“Handed in my last assignment yesterday,” Sarah said. “Don’t have to worry about writing another essay until September now. It is such a good feeling.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “I’ve still got the conclusion to write on my last one, but I’m nearly there.”

“Then you’ll be in your final year and it’ll nearly be over,” Sarah commented. “That’s kind of scary.”

“I can’t wait,” Craig told her. “Get out there, do my thing.”

“You gonna be some big business tycoon?” Sarah asked. “The new Donald Trump or something?”

“I’m gonna be bigger than Donald Trump,” Craig said. “I’ve got a plan. Can’t fail.”

Sarah laughed, smiling at him with this look in her eyes like he was really attractive or something. “Well, it’s good to have confidence.” Flirting, she was definitely flirting. It made Craig feel kind of warm. In a nice way.

Confidence, he thought. It was something he didn’t really have any of, if he was honest with himself. It seemed almost laughable that she would say that. But if there was something Craig did have confidence in, it was his plan. He didn’t quite believe in himself, but he believed in that. He believed that he could do it. Maybe it was because he’d thought up that plan so long ago now, at a time when he _did_ believe in himself, that even as his own confidence dwindled with age and experience, he could never quite let go of that dream. It never stopped being the one thing that he could count on.

“Go on then,” Sarah encouraged.

Craig looked up at her, no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

“Your plan,” Sarah said. “What is it?”

“Oh, erm, three businesses by the time I’m thirty,” Craig said. He felt silly talking about this now. He kind of wanted to change the subject.

“That’s ambitious,” she commented.

“It can be done,” Craig told her.

Sarah nodded. “Yeah, yeah, definitely.” She smiled at him, this look on her face like she thought he was really cool. It just made Craig feel uncomfortable. The waiter came to take away their plates and Craig was glad for the distraction.

“So, you still intent on bleeding me dry?” he asked.

Sarah frowned slightly. “What?”

“The three courses,” Craig said. “You want a dessert?”

“I’m kind of stuffed actually,” Sarah admitted.

“Yeah, me too,” Craig agreed. “You fancy that movie then? Or, if you don’t want to go into town, we could just go to The Loft for a couple of drinks or something? What do you think?”

“Wouldn’t want you spending any more money on me,” Sarah said. “You’ll need it all if you’re starting up three businesses.”

Craig smiled at her. “I’m sure I could spare a little more.”

“Or we could just go back to mine for a bit, if you fancy it,” Sarah suggested.

Craig felt a little flustered. He hadn’t quite expected that. Still, he couldn’t say the idea wasn’t tempting. And not just because it’d been a while. Because he liked Sarah. Because she was gorgeous and had a body to die for and he actually liked spending time with her too. When it came down to it, she was his type, and wasn’t that all he’d been looking for tonight?

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed. “Sounds good.”

Sarah smiled, seeming pleased and a little relieved. Craig smiled back, anticipation making his heart beat a little faster. He caught the waiter’s attention and asked for the bill.

When they got to Sarah’s flat, she stepped into the living room where a very pregnant teenager was sitting in near darkness, watching the TV. “You alright, Aims?” Sarah asked. “Is dad about?”

‘Aims’ looked up at the pair of them. “No, he’s still out with Zoe. They said they’d probably be late.”

“Oh, cool,” Sarah said, starting back out the room.

“Just don’t make loads of noise,” ‘Aims’ told her. “I just got Leah settled.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be quiet,” Sarah assured her. She smiled at Craig and showed him through to her bedroom.

“Is that your sister?” Craig asked as he closed the door behind himself.

“Yeah,” Sarah said, sitting down on the bed and tugging at her skirt slightly.

“Leah another sister?” Craig asked, moving slowly towards the bed where Sarah was.

“No, Leah’s my niece,” Sarah replied. “She’s Amy’s.”

“Oh, right,” Craig said. He tried not to be judgemental, but Amy was definitely still at school, judging by the look of her, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. There was a certain stigma that came with people who had two kids at that age.

“Yeah, I know,” Sarah said, as though reading his mind. She’d probably had to deal with those kinds of thoughts a lot. “She went through a bit of a teenage rebellion phase. Who would’ve thought I’d be the good one, ay?” Craig just nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “She’s not a bad kid really,” Sarah continued. “Having Michaela McQueen as a best friend certainly didn’t help.”

“What do you mean?” Craig asked defensively. “I’ve spent time with Michaela. She’s not a bad kid either, you know. Not really.”

“Well, she has a bit of a reputation,” Sarah said.

“John Paul has a bit of a reputation too,” Craig pointed out. “Shall we just condemn him as well?”

Sarah looked confused. “What are we talking about here, Craig?”

Craig frowned. He wasn’t even sure anymore. Defending John Paul had become second nature to him, but he realised now that it was more than that. Defending Michaela was definitely new. But he felt certain that it was something John Paul would do, stand up for his little sister, stand up for his family. Only John Paul wasn’t here to do it, and so maybe someone else should be there to look out for them instead.

Craig wondered when that had happened. He wondered when he’d started protecting John Paul by protecting the people that he cared about. He wondered when he’d become so caught up in so many aspects of John Paul’s life. After that first visit, he’d been terrified of John Paul’s family wanting anything from him just because he was John Paul’s friend. Now he felt proud to be a part of it all. He _wanted_ to be a part of it all.

He looked at Sarah. She didn’t get it, and Craig didn’t have the words to explain it. But it was nothing to do with her, so he brushed it away for now, focusing on what was in front of him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just get a little...” He shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I feel bad for John Paul. It comes out in strange ways sometimes.”

Sarah smiled, seeming almost amused. “You gonna come and sit down? I can put some music on if you like.”

“We’ll be in trouble if we wake Leah up,” Craig commented, sitting by her side.

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed.

She shifted slightly closer to him, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Craig guessed that it was supposed to be seductive. It must have worked on some level, because he found himself leaning in.

Their lips met tentatively at first, neither one really sure of themselves. Craig felt bad. He felt like maybe he was making Sarah doubt herself. He cupped the side of her face and pressed his lips more firmly against hers, feeling her respond in kind. It made his blood pump around his body just a little bit faster. He flicked his tongue out against her bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. He could taste her strawberry lip gloss, fruity and sweet and intoxicating. Her warm, smooth hand slipped around his neck, pulling him in closer, their mouths opening simultaneously as their tongues slid together.

Craig groaned, feeling his body heat and become more alive, more aware of the tiniest of stimulations. He pressed Sarah back on the bed without even thinking about it, and she did nothing but drag him further on top of her, until the lengths of their bodies were touching. It felt so good, all this warmth, all this flesh, laid out beneath him, wanting him. Their mouths continued to move together, lost to one another, as their hands grabbed and groped, unable to stop themselves now that they’d started.

Craig squeezed her breast in his hand, feeling the hardening nipple against his palm. She moaned softly, her hand landing on his arse as her hips rose upwards, rubbing their groins together. It ignited a friction in Craig, and he began to move on instinct alone, knowing what he wanted and knowing that he was allowed to take it. He slid his hand up her bare thigh, feeling soft, warm flesh under his fingers, the sensation something of a comfort and a turn on at once, familiar and subtle and filled with promise. Sarah opened her legs to him, allowed his touch, and Craig fitted himself between them, thrusting down at her through the thin layers of material that separated them.

They set up a slow, firm rhythm between them, circling hips and driving bodies. Craig could feel his body surrendering to it, not just at the physical sensations that made the fabric of his jeans press enticingly against his hardening cock with each thrust or the simple friction of their bodies moving together. It was also the way her body curved in all the right places, allowing his hands to follow the lines, the perfect contours. It was the way that she tasted, sweet and feminine and clean. It was the way that she smelt, like expensive perfume and lilac soap and just a hint of arousal underneath. It was the way she moaned softly and gently in his ear, her body urging upwards beneath him. All of that contributed to the way that his dick pulsed and his body heated and his hands simply couldn’t stop touching her.

That wasn’t all that there was though. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, there was something else beneath it all, something that he tried desperately to shut out. Something like guilt. At first he tried to brush it off as guilt over having what John Paul couldn’t. Not a girl, of course, but a relationship. Intimacy. It was how he’d written off the guilt over that first kiss. But the more he touched Sarah, the further it went, the surer Craig was that that wasn’t it.

He knew the real answer a good few minutes before he was ready to admit it to himself. He felt guilty for betraying John Paul, not because he was with a girl or because he hadn’t told him or even because he was doing this with John Paul’s friend. It wasn’t until Sarah’s hand slid into his pants that he knew he had to put a stop to it, knew he couldn’t let it go any further. Because if he slept with Sarah, it would be like cheating on John Paul.

He didn’t quite know what that meant, but he knew that it was true. He felt the right things for Sarah, felt what boys were supposed to feel for girls, and he was definitely able to go through with this, but he didn’t want to. There was something between he and John Paul, and he didn’t claim to understand what it was, but it was more than friendship. It went deeper than that, it meant more, and maybe it wasn’t as immediate as what he was feeling for Sarah right now, maybe it wasn’t making his dick ache and his hormones spike, but it was real. It needed addressing. That meant that he had to walk away from this.

As Sarah’s slim fingers wrapped around his dick, Craig took hold of her wrist and gently pulled her hand away, even as his body groaned slightly at the loss. He forced himself to his feet and looked down at her apologetically.

“I have to go.”

“What?” Sarah asked incredulously, looking lost and confused.

“I’m really sorry, Sarah, I just... I have to go,” Craig repeated, turning and heading for the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sarah asked, clearly angry now. “You can’t just go around...”

“I know,” Craig cut in, trying to express his remorse. “I am really sorry, Sarah, I just... I can’t do this. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Sarah demanded. “You wanted me a second ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Craig said again, opening her bedroom door and heading out of the flat.

*

Craig closed the door a little too hard behind himself as he tried to calm his nerves. He’d felt comforted by the fact that he’d wanted Sarah, because at least it meant that he didn’t have to re-evaluate his whole sexual outlook. He liked girls. He knew that for a fact.

So what was this thing he was feeling for John Paul? It wasn’t quite sexual, but at the same time, Craig wanted him. On what level, he wasn’t entirely sure yet. He knew that he wanted to hold him again. He knew that he wanted to touch his hand as they sat at opposite sides of that visiting table. He knew that he wanted to wrap him up and take him away from the world.

“How’d it go?” Steph asked, taking him out of his thoughts. Craig hadn’t even realised she was there.

“I’m alone, aren’t I?” he replied moodily.

“That good, eh?” Steph remarked. “Shall I get the ice cream out?”

“I’m not a girl, Steph, I don’t need ice cream,” Craig told her, walking fully into the flat.

“Alright, calm down,” Steph replied. “I just thought, if it didn’t go well...”

“It went fine,” Craig said. “I had fun. I’m just...” He stopped, seeing a letter on the counter with the familiar _HM Prison Hindley_ stamp on the envelope. He picked it up. “When did this come?”

“This morning, I suppose,” Steph shrugged.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” Craig asked.

“Thought you’d seen it,” Steph replied. “I’m not your mum, Craig.”

Craig rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs, letter in hand. He closed his door behind himself and sat down on his bed, practically tearing into the letter.

 _Craig_

 _I’m glad you don’t think this is an issue. I don’t think it’s an issue either, but you can never tell how people are going to take these things. Let’s just say I’ve had some bad experiences. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you myself or that I didn’t trust you enough to tell you. I would have told you eventually, honestly, but maybe it’s better that you found out sooner rather than later. At least it’s all out in the open now._

 _Anyway, as you can see, I’ve sent you a visiting order because, strictly speaking, it is your turn on the very complicated rota of my family and, well, friend. And I know you came recently with Michaela, but I think you deserve a medal for that, personally. So the visit is still yours, if you want it. If you have plans or whatever, just let me know, and I’ll pass it onto the next person in line._

 _And thank you for your letter. It kind of helped put my mind at rest a little. Hopefully see you soon..._

 _John Paul_

Craig sighed. His letter. The letter in which he’d missed out big chunks of what he was feeling because he wasn’t even sure if he was really feeling them. He could be such a momentous idiot sometimes. John Paul thought that everything was hunky-dory and Craig was pulling his hair out over some kind of longing, not-quite-lustful, emotion that was taking over his life.

He stared down at the visiting order in his hand. They had to talk about this. Craig had to be honest. He had to tell John Paul every scary, mixed-up thing in his head and hope that it helped. It had to be better than pretending.


	12. Chapter 12

Craig felt sick. His stomach was churning and his heart was beating harshly inside his chest, threatening to bruise his ribcage. He’d had a week to think about this, a week between receiving the visiting order and seeing John Paul. It was too long, especially for someone like Craig who couldn’t help but over think every little thing. If he could have seen John Paul last Friday night, after his date with Sarah, after his realisation, he could have told John Paul everything, he could have given him his James Joyce style stream of consciousness ramblings on the matter. As it was, he had a week to talk himself in and out of it, a week to question his feelings, a week to turn this into something that he could barely stand to face.

In hindsight, he probably should have written down every messy, uncertain thought that was going through his head that night so that he didn’t lose any of it to his later attempts at logic. But he didn’t write any of it down, so all he had was nausea and a racing pulse and an inability to tell the difference between up and down.

He took a deep breath and stepped up to the guards, allowing himself to be frisked and trying not to look like he had anything to hide. He still couldn’t stand the mandatory searches that came with every visit.

He reasoned with himself that maybe he should wait until he actually saw John Paul, face to face, in the flesh, before he decided whether or not he was going to tell him anything. But he knew that if he gave himself that option, gave himself any kind of out, he’d bottle it. He might not understand his feelings, but he was certain they existed, and they went much deeper than those of best friends. He was also certain that they needed voicing and addressing before he lost his mind.

Stepping into the visiting hall, his eyes sought out John Paul and, as he saw him, he realised how stupid he’d been to think that he’d somehow feel differently. He took in the way that John Paul sat in his chair, staring off to the side. He seemed nonchalant, something that Craig now recognised as a show for his fellow inmates. He was good at looking disaffected, but Craig saw through all that now. He saw the funny, sensitive, vulnerable person underneath, and he smiled to himself at the thought. It must be a struggle for John Paul to keep up the front, to act like he didn’t care, to play a part every minute of every day. It must be exhausting. Craig wanted to wrap him up in his arms and hold him, hold his John Paul, the one that was real and honest and beautiful.

John Paul looked up, as though he sensed Craig’s presence, and a natural, easy smile came over his face. Craig smiled back and walked towards him, acting as though he were on autopilot. He couldn’t help himself.

“Hi,” John Paul greeted, tilting his head slightly to the side as he took in Craig, stood in front of him. It seemed like a friendly, familiar gesture.

“Hi,” Craig responded. “Drink?”

John Paul smiled. “You are my favourite visitor, you know that?”

Craig didn’t know why the comment flustered him. He was sure John Paul didn’t mean anything by it, but it made him blush slightly anyway. He offered some kind of awkward half-smile and turned towards the vending machines.

When he returned, John Paul leaned forward, taking the coffee from Craig as he sat down. He took a sip and then sighed slightly, placing the cup back down on the table. Craig just found himself watching him, lost in a world of his own.

“You alright, then?” John Paul asked.

Craig blinked a couple of times, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he responded. “Yeah, you?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s a laugh riot in here,” John Paul replied. Craig just looked at him, unsure how to take the comment. “I’m joking,” John Paul said dryly. “I’m okay.” Then he offered Craig this little smile like he was letting him see behind the curtain. Craig nodded. “So, what have you been up to?” John Paul asked.

“Erm, I dunno, nothing,” Craig replied.

“Nothing?” John Paul responded incredulously. “I guarantee your week was more exciting than mine. C’mon, throw me some scraps here, man. How’s uni?”

“Yeah, it’s going well,” Craig replied automatically. There was something so disarming about the easy way that John Paul spoke to him that was catching him off guard. He was so friendly, so open. “Well, I mean, I haven’t got many lectures at the moment really. I’m not in as much what with it bein’ the end of the year. Just working on finishing my last essay.”

“Right,” John Paul nodded. “Then freedom, yeah?”

“Something like that,” Craig agreed.

“You going away anywhere?” John Paul asked.

“I dunno,” Craig replied. “I doubt it. I think me and Steph would like to take Tom somewhere, but I think all we could stretch to right now would be a camping trip to Wales or something.”

“You should do that,” John Paul told him. “Kids love camping.”

“You used to go camping when you were a kid?” Craig asked.

“No,” John Paul said, shaking his head. “My sisters and tents are just... not compatible. We used to go to Pontin’s though. That was a nightmare. I did go camping once, with my dad, when I was little. That was kind of a nightmare too, to be honest. But it was like an adventure. Especially trying to put a tent up at eleven o’clock at night, in the pitch blackness, after my dad had had a few pints. We kept the tent after he left though. Me and Michaela used to put it up in the garden sometimes. She always claimed she wasn’t scared to sleep in it, but whenever I woke up, she was wrapped around me like a limpet. Then she got a little older, and she started taking after the rest of them, thinking that clothes and make-up were the most important things in life. She wouldn’t slum it in the tent after that.”

Craig smiled. He loved getting those little insights into John Paul’s life, and he loved how simply John Paul offered them to him. There was nothing guarded about him anymore, not with Craig. He trusted him, and Craig didn’t have words for how special that made him feel.

“Anyway, if you do go away, you should send me a postcard,” John Paul said.

“Yeah, I will,” Craig agreed. “Y’know, if I get anywhere.”

John Paul nodded and Craig felt like he had to add another item to the list of things that John Paul was missing out on. Holidays. Disastrous camping trips. Making new stories. And that was the part that broke Craig’s heart. Even awful experiences led to amusing anecdotes to tell people. John Paul would never really have any more experiences like that. All he had was memories. And Craig knew that he shouldn’t write him off like that, he knew he’d tell John Paul not to write himself off in that way, but it was true really. He couldn’t imagine that all that many exciting things happened in prison. And maybe John Paul was resigned to that fact, he’d said it wasn’t really all that bad inside, but it must be so monotonous, so routine and structured. Craig thought back to _Shawshank_ , to institutionalisation, and he could barely stand it.

He gazed down at the table, lost in his thoughts, staring at John Paul’s folded arms that rested on the surface. His forearms were bare and he had these light golden hairs that glistened slightly when the stark overheard lights hit them. Craig thought about what it felt like when those arms were wrapped around his back. It made his face heat slightly, made his whole body heat. He had no idea what that meant.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” John Paul asked.

Craig looked up at him, forcing himself out of his daze. “What? I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” John Paul commented. He seemed slightly suspicious. “Is this because... I mean, I know you said it wasn’t going to be weird, but...”

“No,” Craig said quickly. “No, no, it’s nothing to do with that. Honestly, that, not a problem.”

John Paul nodded, but he looked unconvinced. “What is it, then?”

Craig looked down at the table, playing his finger along a scratch. This was his opening. This was the perfect opportunity to tell John Paul exactly what the problem was, exactly why he was acting like an irrational moron. He searched for the words. He knew that he wasn’t eloquent like John Paul, knew that he wouldn’t say it right, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was more honest that way.

He took a breath and thought about how John Paul made him feel. Happy, content, maybe a little giddy. But that wasn’t the point. It was how he felt about John Paul. It was what he wanted from John Paul. And that was where Craig fell down, because he simply didn’t know. All he knew was that he was a not-gay boy who was having feelings for another boy, a boy who _did_ happen to be gay. He was fairly sure it didn’t get much more complicated than that.

“Forget it,” John Paul dismissed. “I shouldn’t pry. It’s none of my business.”

Craig looked up at him desperately. “No, I didn’t mean...” He sighed and then just sat there, dejected. How had he ever thought he was going to do this? “I’m sorry,” he offered. He knew that John Paul had no idea what he was really apologising for, but he felt the need to say it anyway.

“It’s cool,” John Paul responded, but he leaned back in his seat as he said the words, and Craig felt as though there were a huge cavern opening up between them. He focused himself and tried again.

“It’s just... I’ve been...” he stuttered, his eyes flitting anywhere but at John Paul.

“What?” John Paul asked, his voice a little softer now, trying to draw Craig out.

Craig’s mouth went dry. He was fairly sure that he couldn’t feel his toes. Could he ever feel his toes? He chanced a look at John Paul, who was doing that little head tilt thing again, and then he looked quickly away, staring at the painted, breezeblock wall. He felt like he was about to have a stroke or something.

“I...” He licked his lips, forced himself to breathe. “I’m worried about my sister,” he eventually said. “Her boyfriend. I don’t trust him.”

He sagged down in his chair. He’d bottled it. He’d bottled it and he felt like crying. He felt like a liar and a fraud and a complete bloody idiot to boot.

“Well, she needs to find that out for herself,” John Paul told him. “Trust me, they don’t want to hear it before they’re ready. Just keep an eye on him. It’ll probably be nothing.”

Craig nodded. He thought of John Paul trying to save Carmel from an abusive relationship. He thought about Carmel telling him that John Paul had warned her the first time he’d met Jimmy that he didn’t trust him. He wondered how long it was until Carmel did listen, until she admitted there was a problem.

It can’t have been easy for John Paul to give advice on something like this, having gone through what he had. It must bring it all back, all the helplessness. It was how Craig felt when he looked at Steph and Niall, and Niall hadn’t even done anything yet, except for creep Craig out and be generally menacing. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to actually watch someone you care about being hurt and not being able to do a thing about it.

He wanted to change the subject. He wanted to tell the truth. He just wasn’t sure how.

“You know him,” he said, looking up at John Paul. He wasn’t sure that this was a conversation that he wanted to have either, but his curiosity was winning out. Maybe this could be a lead in. Maybe.

“Who?” John Paul asked, looking thrown.

“Steph’s boyfriend,” Craig said. “Niall. Niall Rafferty.”

John Paul smiled, recognition and amusement flooding his features. “Niall?” He gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from. Have you ever seen that film _Sleeping With The Enemy_?”

Craig shook his head. “No.”

“Yeah, I have too many sisters,” John Paul sighed. “Anyway, Niall’s flat is just like that. Look in his cupboards, he keeps his tins all lined up and in order. It’s creepy. And the towels in his bathroom... He likes things in their place. But don’t worry, he’s basically harmless. Honestly, he’s a decent bloke. Nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” Craig said distractedly. He remembered Carmel telling him that John Paul was a good judge of character, and so maybe he should just believe him. Maybe he was right. It didn’t stop Craig feeling this awful sense of dread when he thought of Niall and Steph together though. “I guess you’d know,” he added casually. “He mentioned that you used to hang around at his flat.”

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed, nodding slightly. He offered no further elaboration.

“Why?” Craig asked, the question coming out a lot more bluntly than he’d intended.

John Paul looked at him. “What?”

“Why did you hang around his flat?”

John Paul shrugged. “He was a mate. And his flatmate was a mate. And it was nice to get away from all the bloody girls round mine.”

Craig nodded. John Paul had seemed slightly perturbed by the question, uncomfortable even. Craig wasn’t sure what to make of that. He told himself he was reading too much into it, just like he did with everything, but he couldn’t shake this feeling, the feeling that he was right and John Paul was wrong. The feeling that there was some vital piece of information that he was missing out on here.

“He just doesn’t seem like he’d be that much fun,” Craig commented. “Seems a bit uptight.”

“Yeah, but he had an Xbox 360,” John Paul responded. “Elite edition.” He took in Craig’s frown and rolled his eyes, like he was battling against Craig’s lacking sense of humour. “He’s not that bad, once you get to know him.”

Craig nodded. And then something occurred to him. “You and him weren’t...”

“What?” John Paul asked incredulously, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Craig took some comfort in that. “I think the fact that he’s dating your sister should give you a little clue as to the answer to that question.” He smiled at Craig, looking greatly amused. “He was just a mate.”

“Was?” Craig asked, picking up on the repeated use of past tense.

John Paul shrugged. “Haven’t spoken to him in quite a while.” He took a sip of his coffee and then focused on Craig again. “So, c’mon, you must have been up to something lately that you can tell me about,” John Paul said, clearly taking the chance to change the subject. Craig still felt like there was something he was missing, but he let it go. He didn’t want to push the matter anymore.

“I went on a date last week,” he offered. It possibly wasn’t the smartest thing to bring up, but he saw it as another possible way into the conversation that he wanted to be having. If he talked about his date with Sarah, he could talk about what went wrong, and maybe that would let him talk about these feelings he’d been having.

“Oh, yeah?” John Paul asked, something slightly suggestive in his voice. “Go on then.”

He was leaning forward, closer to Craig now. There was something matey and conspiratorial about the whole thing. Craig wanted to touch him, his hand or his arm maybe, a strange urge that he couldn’t quite explain. It was the proximity, it made him want to reach out. He pushed the thoughts away and tried to concentrate.

“It was with your mate,” Craig stated.

“Niall?” John Paul asked in faux surprise. Craig gave him a look.

“Sarah.”

John Paul looked genuinely surprised then. “Sarah Barnes?”

“Yeah,” Craig nodded.

“Oh,” John Paul said. Craig couldn’t quite read the look on his face. “So, how’d it go?”

“Okay,” Craig shrugged. “Well, I mean, it was alright. She’s nice and everything.”

“You gonna do it again?” John Paul asked.

“No,” Craig said. “I don’t... don’t really think she’s my type.” John Paul smiled, seeming amused, and it made Craig uncomfortable.

“She won’t like that,” John Paul commented.

“What?” Craig asked.

“She’s used to getting what she wants,” John Paul explained. “Always got a boyfriend on the go. And why shouldn’t she? I mean, she’s gorgeous, right?”

“You think she’s gorgeous?” Craig asked, hating how shocked the question came out.

“I am allowed to notice these things,” John Paul told him. “They haven’t passed a law yet.”

“Well, yeah, I didn’t mean...” Craig stammered.

“She’s always had blokes falling over her,” John Paul went on. “Used to drive me and Hannah nuts. We were awful at dating. Had the worst luck.”

Craig nodded. This was his in. He had the conversation going in the right direction. “You didn’t have a lot of... relationships then?” Craig asked, stopping himself from using the word ‘boyfriends’. It was risky even talking about this here.

“I dunno,” John Paul replied, his voice kind of contemplative. “I guess I had one really. One proper one. That’s really sad, isn’t it? I kind of wish I didn’t just admit to that. I mean, there were other people, but...”

Craig smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m awful at dating too,” he told him. “Never quite got it right.” John Paul smiled back, like they were sharing some kind of in-joke. Craig liked it. “Tell me about it,” he requested, feeling much too comfortable. “The one proper one.”

John Paul looked at him, seeming unsure and a little taken aback. “You sure you wanna hear about that?”

“Well, I mean, you can skip the gory details,” Craig joked.

John Paul smiled at him and then looked down at the table, hesitating before beginning. “They were a DJ,” he started, and Craig noticed the clever lack of pronouns. John Paul was clearly all too aware of the fact that they weren’t alone. “And, I dunno, it was pretty good. Lasted a few months. We had a lot in common, music and sense of humour and I just liked spending time with... them. But we were kind of in different places. I was still in school and they were... older. Not that much older,” he added quickly. “I mean, not gross older. Within the same age bracket. It’s just that, I was new to the whole thing and, well, they’d been around the block a few times. We wanted different stuff. But we stayed mates for a long time afterwards. Used to take me to really cool clubs and try and help me pull. Which was... an experience.”

He laughed slightly, looking lost to the memories. And this would have been Craig’s perfect opportunity to bring it up. He could ask about being new, ask when John Paul knew, if he’d always known. He could ask what it felt like, taking that step, if he’d been as terrified as Craig was right now of all of these confusing things that were happening inside of him.

But Craig didn’t ask anything. Craig bottled it, again. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it, to open the door. He knew that things couldn’t go on like this, that he couldn’t sit here forever and pretend to not feel what he was feeling, but John Paul’s friendship meant so much to him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing it or making it strained or awkward. He wasn’t quite sure that it was worth the risk.

“So, what about you?” John Paul asked. “What was your first girlfriend like?”

“A bitch,” Craig responded, not even realising what he was saying until the word had come out.

“Oh,” John Paul said. He looked away awkwardly.

“Sorry,” Craig said. John Paul gave something like a shrug, but still didn’t look at him. “Actually, I think my first girlfriend was when I was twelve years old, come to think of,” Craig said. John Paul turned to face him, amusement starting to crack his features. “Yeah, at a caravan park in Southport.”

John Paul smiled properly then. “Caravan park?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Not sure if that’s more or less of a nightmare than Pontin’s.”

“Did you have to watch your sisters enter a talent competition?” John Paul challenged.

“Yes,” Craig replied. “Every year.”

“We’ll call it a draw then,” John Paul told him.

They shared a smile, and Craig felt like they were on the same page. He just wished that he could find a way to be honest with John Paul, because he had a feeling that the similarities ran deeper than he was really comfortable admitting to yet.

Finding themselves back on track, they chatted easily through the rest of the visit, but Craig never really relaxed. He’d had a plan when he’d gone there today, and he hadn’t seen it through. It was at the back of his mind with every word that they exchanged and it was eating him up. But he was having fun. He was enjoying himself. And he even managed to convince himself that maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t say anything. It would have undoubtedly changed the mood if he had. Maybe it was better this way, without the complications.

But the complications were there, whether Craig wanted to face them or not. At the end of the visit, he stood up as he said his goodbye, but John Paul didn’t stand up with him. Craig had kind of taken it for granted that he’d get a hug, that he’d get to feel that warmth and closeness again, but John Paul made no move to offer one, or to make himself available to accept one. And the rational part of Craig’s mind knew that John Paul was more than likely oblivious to what Craig wanted, that it simply hadn’t occurred to him, and he knew that he’d only really gotten a hug last time because Michaela was there and she’d gotten one first. But Craig couldn’t help being disappointed and a little bit hurt. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d been blown off.

John Paul was friendly with him though, giving a smile and a nod and wishing him a good journey home. Craig had returned the smile and the nod and then turned to walk away, pretending that he didn’t care. Maybe he’d fooled John Paul, but he certainly hadn’t fooled himself.

On the train ride home, his sense of failure and desperation only got worse. If being that close to John Paul had told him anything, it was that he wanted something from him that was more than friendship. Being his mate wasn’t going to be enough. It terrified him, but he couldn’t shut it out. He wished that it was clear cut, that he just wanted to be John Paul’s boyfriend so that he could cut out all of this ambiguous middle ground. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to kiss him. He didn’t think he wanted to kiss him. No, kissing wasn’t on the agenda. Just holding. Protecting. Caring. Maybe even cherishing. He wished he had some idea what all of that meant.

By the time he got home, he was a mess. He was in a worse state than he’d been in all week. He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t wonder and hide and try to be something that he wasn’t. It had to end, one way or another. He had to take a chance, a leap of faith. Craig didn’t believe in divine intervention, but he said a little prayer anyway as he closed the door to his flat.

“Hiya,” Steph greeted in a cheery voice.

Craig looked up and saw Steph and Tom in a bombsite of a kitchen, flour and eggshells and cocoa powder all over the place. They both had a wooden spoon in their hands, stirring a large bowl of something that Craig didn’t want to question.

“Are you taking cooking tips from her?” Craig asked Tom, nodding towards Steph.

“Steph’s teaching me how to make chocolate cake,” Tom replied.

“Yeah, good luck with that, mate,” Craig told him.

“Oi,” Steph said indignantly, throwing an oven glove at him. “You gonna come and help then?”

Craig shook his head. “I have to do something.”

He left the cosy atmosphere of the kitchen and headed up to his room, shutting himself in. He felt kind of bad for not joining in, it looked like they were having a laugh, and Craig loved when they could bond over stupid stuff like that together, but he had to do this now. He had to get the words down while they were fresh this time. He sat down at his desk and pulled his notebook towards himself, starting to write.


	13. Chapter 13

_John Paul_

 _If you think I was acting weird during our last visit then this is why. See, I made myself a promise. There’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately and I promised myself that today, when I saw you, I was going to tell you. I was going to talk about it. But I bottled it, because that’s what I do. I don’t see things through. But I need to see this through. I need to find out what it means._

 _This has nothing to do with your sexuality, except maybe it does. I don’t know. Is this how it starts? It’s just that I’ve been having these feelings about you. And I hate the way that sounds, but I don’t know how else to explain it. They’re not sexual feelings. It’s nothing like that. It’s just that when I think about you I feel this... fondness. I don’t know if that’s really the right word. I don’t think there are any right words. I’ve never really felt anything like this before._

 _Maybe I should start a little closer to the beginning. I started to notice something after we hugged. Not during, and not immediately after, but later on. It was that evening, when I got home. I was thinking about it and I realised that I was savouring it. I was thinking about you and your arms and your warmth and your smell. It made me feel kind of nice. Nice is a stupid word and I think I just made it sound really dodgy. I felt content. Maybe that’s a better way of putting it. Then I kind of freaked out, because I had no idea what that meant. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something I’d ever felt with a mate before. And I’ve never really had a best mate, but I don’t think that’s what it was. I think it was something else._

 _I can’t explain any of this, because I don’t understand it, and maybe that’s why I’m writing this letter. I want it to make sense because it’s messing with my head. I’ve never had to question myself like this because everything’s always been straightforward. My life followed a pattern. Girls were gross and then I hit puberty and they suddenly seemed a lot more attractive. They seemed vital. They took up a lot of my thought process. Their bodies did things to me. I’m sure you know what I’m getting at. And this isn’t like that. This isn’t some kind of second puberty. I just know that what I’m feeling with you is somewhere between ‘John Paul is gross’ and ‘John Paul is vital’. Not that you were ever gross. I’m just trying to put this into perspective. I’m definitely past the point of ‘John Paul is a friend’, I know that much._

 _So, that date that I told you I went on, the one with Sarah, that was me trying to kind of re-evaluate my scale. And before you go thinking how awful that is, to do that to your friend, to take her out with this ulterior motive in mind, trust me, I know. I don’t feel good about it. I was desperate. I was at the end of my tether. I needed answers about who I was, about what I felt, and I didn’t know how else to get them. Please don’t think too badly of me._

 _Anyway, if you’re even still reading this, I found out a few things from that date. The first thing that I found out is that I do like girls. I do like Sarah. If things were different, maybe we could even make a go of it. I was worried that everything I’d known, everything that I’d thought about myself for all those years, had been wrong, that I’d been lying to myself the whole time, doing what was expected of me. But I definitely like girls. Of that fact I am certain._

 _The second thing that I found out from the date, however, is that I like you. I’m not sure how much I should really go into this, but I could have slept with Sarah that night. She wanted to, and I kind of wanted to too. But I didn’t. Because it felt wrong. I felt this tug, this tug towards you, like we shared something, and I shouldn’t risk that by starting anything with Sarah, by letting it go too far. So I walked away. And that was when I was sure that this was more than friendship. There’s nothing wrong with fobbing off your girlfriend every once in a while to go watch the footie with the lads, but that definitely wasn’t what this was. I don’t want a girlfriend and a mate. I just want you._

 _And this is the part where I fall down, because I don’t know what I’m asking and I don’t know what I’m offering. I don’t know what it is exactly that I want apart from the fact that it involves you. And me. Like I said, it’s not sexual, and I kind of wish it was, because that would make sense, wouldn’t it? And maybe the idea doesn’t entirely repulse me, but it doesn’t exactly have the same effect as thinking about someone like Sarah does. And maybe I should really stop talking about this. But I want to be close to you. I want to be more than your friend. What’s a step up from a friend?_

 _I don’t know what you’re going to think of any of this or what I expect you to do about any of it. I guess I just want to know if any of this sounds familiar. Are these the kinds of things that you thought about? Do I sound like I’m some hopeless closet case? I just want to stop questioning everything. I’m not in denial, I’m open to whatever it is. The more I think about it as I write this letter, the more certain of that fact I am. I’m scared, but I’m not going to run from it. I can’t. This means too much. You mean too much._

 _And this whole thing turned out kind of epic. I’ve probably put you to sleep with my ramblings by now. I just had to get it out. You’re the only person I can talk to about it. You’re the only person I want to talk to about this. I trust you. I want to come to you first. I just hope that I haven’t ruined anything between us. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose that, whatever you think of this letter._

 _Craig_

*

 _Craig_

 _I honestly have no idea what to say to you. I do know that this isn’t something that can be discussed via letters. I understand why you’d want to explain everything through a letter, why you wouldn’t be able to say it to my face. I think maybe you needed that time and space to find the words and I think it was probably the easiest way for you to get it all out without interruption or distraction. I think it’s probably given me a better picture. But I don’t want to sit here and reel off advice that may or may not be relevant. I can, if you want, but I feel like we’d have a disconnection. Waiting days between letters when trying to deal with something like this, having to make corrections to misunderstandings and wait days again, it’s not ideal, and I can see that this is urgent and scary for you. It needs to be more immediate than that._

 _So here’s what I’m going to suggest. If you feel comfortable giving me your phone number, I could give you a ring and we could talk about it that way. It’s not always entirely private on my end, so if I start talking in riddles, that’s why, but I can listen and I can give advice and hopefully try and help. I just think that it’ll keep us on the same page and it’ll get the whole thing over with a lot quicker for you._

 _So, the ball’s in your court. That’s what I propose as the easiest option to deal with this, but if you want to do the whole thing through letters, it’ll take longer and might not be quite so straightforward, but it’s doable if that’s how you want to do it. Just let me know._

 _I’m sorry if it seems cruel to put off giving you any kind of answer here, but I want to get this right._

 _John Paul_

*

It had been three days since Craig had sent his number off to John Paul and he couldn’t stop checking his phone every five minutes. He knew that it would take a while for the letter to make its way to John Paul, and he was so grateful that all he had to wait for was a phone call and not another letter to respond to. John Paul was right, trying to have this conversation by mail would have been excruciating; all that to and fro, all that waiting.

Still, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was looking forward to this phone call either. He wasn’t sure how he was going to face John Paul after everything he’d told him. And, really, he had no idea how John Paul felt about any of it. There’d been no clues in the letter he sent Craig, it was all just practical organisation of how they could discuss the matter. The discussion itself had clearly not started yet. That made Craig nervous, because it meant that he still had no idea what to expect. He wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for anymore. The more he thought about it though, the more he wanted John Paul to reciprocate.

His phone finally rang on Thursday evening, just after they’d finished dinner. He was pretty certain it was John Paul because, if he was honest, the only other person who ever rung him was Steph, and she was sitting next to him. There was a slim chance that it was his mum, but she wasn’t really speaking to him at all at the moment. So, as his phone vibrated in his pocket, coming to life with the ringtone, his stomach flipped and he felt a surge of adrenaline, a mixture of fear and uncertainty and excitement. He took the phone out of his pocket and hightailed it up the stairs without a word to Steph or Tom.

He closed the door to his bedroom and leaned against it, accepting the call. “Hello?”

“Hi,” the voice on the other end responded. “It’s John Paul.”

Craig’s stomach did that little flip again, that conflicted rush of emotions. “Hi,” he said, his mind going completely blank on him. He mentally berated himself for being useless and redundant, sitting down at his desk with a sigh. “Listen, thanks for calling.”

“That’s cool,” John Paul responded. He sounded guarded and Craig wondered just what he was thinking about him now. He wondered what he thought of that letter he’d sent. Then he wondered if they were really having this conversation alone.

“Can you talk now?” Craig asked.

“I called you, didn’t I?” John Paul responded. Craig still couldn’t read his tone and it made him feel on edge.

“Well, yeah, but, I mean... Is there anyone else there?”

“Couple of people around,” John Paul responded. “Don’t think they’re paying much attention.”

“But there’s certain things you might not be able to say right now?” Craig guessed.

“Something like that,” John Paul agreed. “Anyway, how’re things?”

“Things?” Craig asked. He was trying to read between the lines, but he wasn’t sure there were any.

“How’s uni?” John Paul amended.

“Yeah, okay,” Craig replied, slightly confused by John Paul’s choice of conversation topic given everything that Craig had spilt out in that letter. “Handed my last assignment in today actually.”

“Great,” John Paul said. “Bet that feels pretty good.”

“Yeah, it does,” Craig agreed. He waited, trying to get some kind of clue into what John Paul was thinking.

“How’s Steph and Tom?” John Paul asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Craig replied. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, are we just going to make small talk? Because I thought the point of you calling was to talk about... my letter.”

“We can talk about whatever you want,” John Paul told him.

“Right,” Craig said. “Cool.”

He waited. John Paul apparently waited too.

“Talk, then,” John Paul prompted after a lingering pause.

It sounded abrupt and almost challenging and it made Craig falter. It made him not want to say anything. But then he figured that maybe John Paul was passing the conversation over to him because it was too risky for him to say anything. He couldn’t be sure no one would overhear what he had to say.

“Erm, yeah,” Craig stuttered. “I was... What did you think of the letter?” He had to know. He couldn’t go blindly talking about this to John Paul without knowing what he thought about it, what he thought about him.

“I think...” John Paul began, trailing off. There was a silence, like he was trying to find the right words. “I think...” he said again, his voice even less certain this time. It made something inside Craig ache.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, holding the phone closer to himself like it made John Paul closer to him too.

“No,” John Paul dismissed. “I’m not upset that you sent me that letter or anything. Don’t feel bad. I’m a mate. If I can help, I want to help.”

The word ‘mate’ somehow stung Craig. He _was_ John Paul’s mate, but now, after everything he’d admitted to John Paul, the word seemed almost like an insult.

“I just wondered how you felt about what I said,” he urged.

“Look, Craig, I don’t want to talk about me,” John Paul said, sounding a little short. “This is about you. So how about you talk and I listen?”

Craig found himself riled by the way John Paul was speaking to him. He knew that he shouldn’t be, knew that John Paul was probably dealing with this the best way he knew how, especially in the difficult situation he was in, but Craig didn’t like being dismissed. He didn’t like having the terms of the conversation set for him.

“Does that mean you do like me or you don’t like me?”

He heard John Paul sigh irritably. “It means it’s irrelevant, Craig,” he told him. “Because how’s it going to help? If I don’t, then you’ll feel awkward and you won’t want to talk about it anymore, and if I do, then there’s nothing we can do about it anyway. I’m in prison. It’s not going to happen, regardless of what I want. So do me a favour and just... just talk, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed dejectedly.

He didn’t even feel like talking about it anymore. If there wasn’t a chance, then what was the point of him opening up to John Paul in the first place and putting all of this out there? He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He thought again about what he wanted. He still wanted to hold John Paul, he _ached_ to hold him, so much so that it had brought tears to his eyes before now. But John Paul said it wasn’t going to happen and Craig felt his heart breaking, even though he’d told himself he didn’t want a boyfriend. He wanted something more than this.

He collected himself and re-evaluated the conversation they were going to have. This wasn’t going to be about their relationship, Craig could see that now. It was going to be about his feelings in a general sense, not his feelings for John Paul. The problem with that was that Craig was almost certain that whatever he was feeling, he was feeling it only for John Paul. Sexuality wasn’t really the issue. Craig only wanted him.

“So, erm...” he began haltingly. “Did... did any of it sound familiar? The stuff in my letter, I mean. Is that what you went through when you... when you noticed that... that you... well, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know,” John Paul replied. “I mean, yeah, in a way. But I suppose I always kind of knew. That sounds clichéd, but... It wasn’t really that big of a struggle. It wasn’t like it snuck up on me. I can relate with a lot of what you’re saying, questioning yourself and wondering what it means. But you say that it’s not sexual. Which is where we part ways, because it was always sexual. I mean, when I met Spike, I knew that... There was no doubt on that front. I knew what I wanted, even if it took me a while to get there.”

“Right,” Craig said. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear this. He knew that he’d asked about exes before, but this was different. This was making him uncomfortable. He wanted to talk about John Paul and him, not John Paul and anyone else.

“Anyway, listen, mate, it happens different for everyone,” John Paul told him. “There’s no set list that you have to tick off before you’re... initiated. There’s no rule book to all this. I might have always had an idea, it might have been something that was always there, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t try and fight it, that I didn’t try and deny it, that I didn’t want to just, I dunno, be normal. I even did that thing you did, with Sarah, the trying to make sure. Remember when I said I kissed Hannah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that was an awful thing to do,” John Paul said. “Because I knew that she was practically in love with me. And I was pretty certain that I wasn’t going to be into it. But I had to be sure. I had to try it out before I wrote it off. So I know what you’re saying. Sarah’ll forgive you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Craig muttered.

“Just don’t be scared of it,” John Paul told him. “Let it be whatever it is. I know it can be hard, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed half-heartedly. It _felt_ like the end of the world. Not because there was some possibility that he was suddenly gay, 20 years into his life, but because he couldn’t have the one thing that he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before. He didn’t want to deal with this complicated mess of emotions if he didn’t get that at the end of it. What was the point?

“So, erm, does any of that help?” John Paul asked. “I don’t really know what to say to be honest. I’ve never really had this kind of conversation before. We don’t really talk about this kind of thing in my house.”

“No, we don’t in mine,” Craig replied, cringing at the thought of what Frankie would have to say if she knew her little golden boy was having feelings for another bloke, especially a bloke she’d already previously condemned. This would get him in way more trouble than Steph got into for dating Niall.

“And most of the stuff I would have wanted to talk about happened before I met Spike,” John Paul continued. “And, well, he pretty much cemented everything. But he used to give me advice and stuff sometimes. He was better at it than me.”

“Well, I’d rather talk to you,” Craig said moodily before he could stop himself. John Paul didn’t respond and Craig cursed himself. “I mean...”

“So, did it help?” John Paul asked again, clearly not wanting to give Craig the room to elaborate.

“Yeah,” Craig lied.

They hadn’t even scratched the surface of what he wanted to talk about. He didn’t tell John Paul about his feelings so that they could be gay buddies and share dating tips or something. He told John Paul because his feelings were _about_ John Paul. That was what he’d wanted to discuss here, not what it was like to come out of the closet. He wanted to know what his options were. Apparently, he had none. He leant over his desk putting his head in his hands. It all felt so hopeless.

“Right, cool,” John Paul responded. It sounded just as awkward a lie as Craig’s last comment had.

“I’m not gay,” Craig blurted out. “I mean, I know what I wrote, and I know what I asked, but I’m not.”

“Craig...” John Paul said, clearly not liking where he was going with this.

“Just, listen,” Craig told him. “You said that I should talk and you should listen, so just listen to me for a minute. Because I have never felt like this about anyone and you’re killing me here. I don’t like blokes. I like girls. I like Sarah. But I like you. I like you more than any girl. But it’s just you. And I know that doesn’t really make sense, but it’s true. I like you, John Paul. You can’t just tell me it can’t happen and expect me to be okay with that. I’m not okay. I’m really not. It’s like you’re part of me and it hurts when you pull back. It’s like you’re tearing my flesh. And I want to be with you. I want...”

He closed his eyes and he imagined having John Paul close. His breath was ragged now, hot tears of emotion dampening his eyes. He imagined the heat of John Paul’s body inches away from his, imagined blue eyes and pale skin. He imagined sliding his hand around his neck, feeling warm flesh under his palm. He imagined holding him in his arms, being held. And then he forced himself to imagine kissing him.

His body went hot in an almost unpleasant way. It made him feel a little queasy. He thought of John Paul’s breath against his mouth, thought of John Paul’s lips. He thought of stubble and chapped skin. He thought of a kiss. Gentle at first, chaste, rubbing his thumb over John Paul’s cheek, pulling him nearer. He thought of tongues, thought of the slick slide, thought of surging heat and passion. And then he realised that his heart was beating too fast and sweat was pricking at his skin and his blood was making its way south. He realised that he really wanted to kiss John Paul. He realised that, now the idea was in his head, he wasn’t quite sure how to live without it.

“I want to kiss you,” he admitted, opening his eyes and staring down at the wood of the desk. He braced himself.

“Craig, don’t do this,” John Paul pleaded. His voice sounded strained. Craig hoped it was with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” Craig said. “I can’t help it. I can’t live like this, pretending that it doesn’t matter.”

“It can’t happen,” John Paul told him.

“I want you,” Craig said again.

He felt the tears coming, but he forced them back. He wasn’t going to cry, wasn’t going to break down, not now. But it hurt him, the tensing of his jaw and the stinging in his eyes. He thought maybe he deserved it. On the other end of the line there was nothing but silence and laboured breaths. Craig hated himself for what he was doing. He was ruining it. He was fucking it all up. But he couldn’t stop.

The silence went on and he knew he should say something, put John Paul out of his misery, but he couldn’t. If John Paul wanted to keep arguing, he would have done. If he wanted to hang up, he would have done. He hadn’t done either of those things, which made Craig think that he had something else to say. And so he gave him some space and hoped that he’d find the words to say it.

He heard John Paul breathe in, like he was about to speak, and Craig’s own breath caught in his throat. And then the words came, three words, spoken in a hushed and cracked voice.

“I like you.”

Craig let out a tiny sob, feeling the first tear roll down his cheek. “Thank you,” he said, realising that he was holding the phone in two shaking hands, hugging it close to his ear.

“And I hate you for waiting long enough to make me say that,” John Paul continued. Craig gave a small laugh, feeling the tension starting to drain from him. “Because it doesn’t matter still,” John Paul continued. “You know that, right? It’s not happening.”

Craig felt all of it rushing back to drown him, all of that despair and anguish and heartache. “John Paul...” he appealed.

“Craig, I am in prison for life,” John Paul stated, his voice clear and forceful. “I have had to close a lot of doors. I can’t have things like that anymore. I can’t do it. Because you’ll get bored and then I’ll be left on my own again, so I’d rather just be on my own.”

“That’s... that’s stupid,” Craig told him bluntly.

“Yeah, well, when you’re in prison for life, you can find your own way to deal with it, okay?” John Paul responded testily. “This is mine.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Craig asked desperately. “Just shut it off?”

“Don’t put all your eggs in my basket, Craig,” John Paul told him. “You’re going to end up very disappointed.”

“It’s not like I chose to fall for you,” Craig said. “It’s not like I can control it.”

“I’m sorry,” John Paul told him. “I really, honestly, truly am. I know what it’s like to fall for people you can’t have. You’ll get over it quicker if I put a stop to it now. Trust me, if we let this happen, it’s just going to be harder in the long run.”

“You’re all I think about,” Craig told him.

“Go to a club,” John Paul suggested. “Find someone else to think about.”

“I tried that with Sarah,” Craig replied. “I still ended up thinking about you.”

“It’ll get easier,” John Paul said. Craig could feel himself getting seriously wound up.

“Can you stop being so fucking condescending?” he asked. “I’m not a child, John Paul, I know what I want. Give me some credit.”

“When adults can’t have what they want, they deal with it,” John Paul stated. “When children can’t have what they want, they throw a tantrum.”

“I am not throwing a tantrum,” Craig insisted. “This is called passion. Apparently you don’t have any.”

John Paul was silent again and Craig felt like he’d pushed too far. He screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, marvelling at his ability to make a horrible situation even worse.

“I used to have passion,” John Paul said, his voice sounding lost and almost broken. “Look where that got me. And you don’t even know the half of it.”

“Tell me,” Craig implored softly.

“I think we’ve done enough damage for tonight,” John Paul said. “Maybe we should save it for another time.”

Craig felt his heart sinking. John Paul wasn’t going to let him in. And yet there was that promise there, the implication that there would be another time, that there would be more. Craig clung to it. It was all he had.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, no longer caring how vulnerable his words made him. He needed to give this every shot he had.

“Don’t worry, you can’t lose me,” John Paul told him. “You don’t have me.”

Craig felt another tear. His fingers were aching from gripping the phone so tightly. “I wish you were here.” The words came out like a whisper.

“I wish I was there too,” John Paul replied. “Because then I wouldn’t be here.”

“It’s not a joke,” Craig told him dully.

“I have to go,” John Paul told him. “I haven’t got that much phone credit left. My mum pays for it, and she says she doesn’t mind because it keeps me in touch, but I think I’m supposed to use it to ring her.”

“Right,” Craig responded. He could feel John Paul backing off and he knew there was no point trying to stop him. He felt so helpless, so alone.

“Okay, so...” John Paul trailed off. He clearly wasn’t sure how to do this. Craig didn’t offer him any help. “I’ll talk to you later,” John Paul offered. It sounded like an empty promise. Craig couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“Yeah,” he returned. “Later.”

“Bye, then,” John Paul said, making an effort to sound breezy, like he hadn’t just broken Craig’s heart.

“Bye,” Craig responded. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Craig was left with the dial tone.

He stared at his phone before finally hanging up, letting it slip from his fingers onto the desk in front of him. He forced himself to his feet, stumbling to the bed and dropping heavily down onto it, letting himself sob into his pillow. At some point during that conversation, the status of things had definitely been upgraded to ‘John Paul is vital’, and yet Craig had somehow ended up further away from him than ever.


	14. Chapter 14

_John Paul_

 _Are we still friends?_

 _Craig_

*

It was the uncertainty that was killing Craig. It kind of made him want to laugh. He’d told John Paul everything, had literally laid his soul bare, only to have his heart stomped all over. He’d cried all night, but now he was out of tears, and the thing that was bothering him the most was the uncertainty of it all.

He still didn’t really know what John Paul thought. He’d said he liked him, but he’d also said that it couldn’t happen, and so where did that leave them? Where did that leave Craig?

He’d expected a sense of finality after John Paul had hung up, but that hadn’t happened. He’d attempted to open a door that John Paul had basically slammed shut in his face, and yet Craig couldn’t believe that the door was locked. Maybe he was being naive or unrealistic, but he couldn’t believe that it was as simple as that. Something told him not to count the idea out altogether.

The fact that he was clinging on like that kind of made him hate himself. John Paul had told him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t going to happen. But he couldn’t just give up all hope on this. He was scared he’d have nothing left. So instead, he set himself to understanding and he worked on salvaging whatever they still had. He wasn’t going to let this slip completely through his fingers. Which is why he wrote the note. He needed to know what he was still fighting for.

*

He walked into the village, placing his letter into the post box, and then he just kept walking. As the sun had risen that morning, Craig had made a promise to himself that this wasn’t going to destroy him. But just the fact that it had that potential him made him feel so utterly hopeless. Where did he go from here? He could be practical and tell himself that he was going to concentrate on their friendship, that he was going to keep John Paul close in the only way he was allowed, but he wasn’t sure it would ever truly be enough. He wasn’t sure he even had that much left after last night.

He looked up and found himself standing on the pavement outside the McQueen house. It was as though he’d been sleep walking. His confusion or his conscience or his neediness had led him here. He sighed and looked up the path. These were the people who knew John Paul the best and he couldn’t help holding out some hope that they would have the answers he was looking for. But he shouldn’t burden them. They had enough on their plates already. They didn’t need some love struck idiot knocking on their door and crying on their shoulders.

Craig stared down at his feet, scuffed them on the pavement. He’d been told by both Carmel and Myra that he was good for John Paul. He felt like he’d let them down now by ruining the whole thing, for probably making John Paul feel even shittier about his situation. Because Craig held out hope that, if things were different, John Paul would be his. He’d step into his arms and they’d be happy ever after. And if that were true, why couldn’t they make this work the best they could? Why couldn’t they just accept their feelings, let them exist between them and manifest as they pleased. Craig knew the answer already, of course. There were bars between them. There was stigma between them. Neither of them were free men, even though John Paul was the only one locked away.

But Craig was good for John Paul and he clung to that fact. It had to count for something. Surely if they were closer, he’d be even better for him. He used this logic to give him the courage he needed to knock on the door.

Myra opened it, giving him a friendly smile that almost broke his heart all over again. “Hiya, love,” she greeted. A frown came over her face as she took in the sight of him. “Here, are you alright? You look like you might be comin’ down with summat again.”

“Yeah, I’m...”

He shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he let his gaze fall downwards. What was he supposed to say? He was here and suddenly he wanted to start crying again. He wanted to collapse onto Myra and just let her take care of him. He was sure that she would.

He forced himself to look up again, up into those eyes that were full of concern for him. She was so kind, so caring, so trustworthy. It was exactly what he needed right now, a mother figure who wouldn’t judge, and so he let the words slip out of him.

“I think I might be falling in love with your son.”

It sounded so ridiculous saying it out loud. And yet, at the same time, it sounded right. It sounded true.

Myra stared at him for a moment, looking a little taken aback. “Oh,” she said. “Didn’t know you were that way out.”

“I’m not,” Craig replied.

Myra looked confused. Then she took in Craig’s misery and blinked any kind of judgement away. Craig kind of loved her for that.

“Listen, why don’t you come in?” she offered. “I’m the only one here. We can have a brew and little chat. Alright?”

“Thank you,” Craig responded, giving her an incredibly grateful look as he stepped inside.

“Sit yourself down,” Myra told him. “I’ll stick the kettle on. Do you want something to eat? I’m due to go shopping really, but I’m sure I’ve got some biscuits in here somewhere,” she said, rooting through a cupboard.

“No, it’s fine, really,” Craig assured her. He didn’t think he could eat even if he wanted to right now.

“Well, that’s good, cos I think Michaela’s had ‘em anyway.”

She closed the cupboard door with a sigh and set about making the tea instead. Craig listened to the clinking sounds of cups and spoons, finding it somehow comforting. He wasn’t sure why. Myra came back through with two cups in her hands, passing one to Craig as she sat down beside him.

“There you go, love.”

“Thank you,” Craig replied, taking a sip. He felt the warm liquid coating his insides.

“So, our John Paul, ay?” Myra remarked, turning to face him. She didn’t seem judgemental at all, she wasn’t challenging him. Instead, she seemed accepting of the fact, like she was ready to listen. Craig sort of wished that he had a mum like that.

“I’m sorry that I keep coming to you with stuff like this,” Craig apologised, looking down into his tea. “I know you’ve got John Paul to worry about. You don’t need to be worrying about me as well.”

“Don’t be daft,” Myra told him. “I said you could come talk to me anytime. I meant it.” Craig gave her a appreciative little smile. “Anyway, if you told him, I think he’d be made up,” Myra continued. “He’s always goin’ on about how great you are. And he thinks you’re gorgeous. Not that he told _me_ that, of course. But he told our Carmel, and she can’t keep a secret.”

Craig gave a small, humourless laugh as he remembered the way Carmel had innocently told his mother about his friendship with John Paul. He turned his attention to Myra.

“I did tell him.”

“You did?” Myra asked, seeming surprised.

“Last night,” Craig replied.

“Oh,” Myra said. “What did he have to say for himself then?”

“He told me I should forget about it,” Craig replied. He could feel the tears threatening his eyes again. “He said that if he’s in prison for the rest of his life then he can’t have relationships.”

“It’s not easy for him,” Myra nodded. She looked sad and Craig felt awful for bringing it up. “But, let me tell you something, he can be a stubborn little so and so. Does it just for the sake of it sometimes, I swear.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s just a kid really, and he’s trying so hard to be an adult. Less than two years now and he’ll be in a proper prison. He doesn’t know a thing about the world, bless him.”

Craig rubbed a hand over his face. He hated how utterly hopeless John Paul’s situation was. And yet part of him was angry at John Paul, angry at him for refusing to help himself. Why couldn’t he try for the appeal? Why couldn’t he let Craig be close to him? Why couldn’t he admit that he needed help and stop pretending that everything was so fucking okay?

He felt a tear rolling down his flushed cheek. He pushed it quickly away, but another one fell to replace it. He felt Myra taking his cup out of his grasp and he let her, not able to bring himself to look up. Then her hand was on his arm, a warm, comforting weight.

“Oh, love, I know it’s difficult thinking of him like that,” Myra said soothingly. “I still can’t stand it sometimes. But we’ve all had a long time to get used to how things are.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Craig stated a little too bitterly. “He’s used to it. He’s just accepted things. He’s not even open to the possibility anymore.”

“I don’t know,” Myra said. “You have to understand that this is scary for him.”

“I do,” Craig insisted. “It’s not like I demanded that he get over it. I was trying to be sensitive about the whole thing. I know it’s not easy for him. I can’t stand to think what he’s going through. I mean, he has to hide this big part of himself. He has to act hard all the time because if he lets any emotion shine through they’ll see it as a weak spot and they’ll use it to tear him down. I get all that. And it’s not like I was asking that he put it all aside. He can’t. I just wanted some kind of acknowledgement. I wanted... I don’t know. It’s not like I ever really thought it could happen either, but he didn’t have to be so... cold. Heartless.” He looked at Myra. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying these things to you. He’s your son.”

“Yeah, he is,” Myra agreed. “So I know him better than anyone.” She levelled her gaze at Craig. “He doesn’t like bein’ backed into a corner,” she stated.

“I wasn’t...” Craig protested, but Myra just kept talking.

“Havin’ five gobby sisters, it taught him how to fight back. How to lash out. He knows a thing or two about bein’ hurtful when he wants to, he’s got enough role models on that front, but he rarely means it. Most of the time he regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth. He doesn’t stay mad at people, John Paul. I don’t know what he said to you, but I bet he regrets it. Probably feels awful about it now. He does what he thinks he needs to do to protect himself. That instinct’s only gotten sharper since he’s been in there. Trust me, you mean a lot to him. He wouldn’t throw that away. Just give him a bit of time to get his head round it. Let him set the terms that he’s comfortable with and work from there.”

Craig nodded. “I just want to be close to him. I want to spend time with him. I want to know that it means as much to him as it does to me. I can live with him not acting like it in front of all those people. I just need to know. I need him to stop shutting me out.”

“Just don’t set yourself up for a fall,” Myra warned him. “I want nothing more than for him to be happy. And you seem like such a nice lad. I know he thinks the world of you. But for both of your sakes, you need to be sure. It’s going to be difficult. Don’t start it unless you’re sure you can see it through. Because it might not get any better than this.”

Craig looked down at his lap. He couldn’t live with this frustration and loneliness for the rest of his life. But he didn’t feel like he could live without John Paul either.

The front door opened and Craig tensed up, watching as Jacqui came into the house, pushing a Burberry pram. He turned away quickly, wiping at his damp eyes.

“Mum, can you watch Max for us?” she asked. “I need to go into town and I don’t wanna be trailin’ him round.”

“Was a time when I had to trail six kids around if I wanted to go anywhere,” Myra responded. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Yeah, but when our Michaela was in one of these, I was always the one pushin’ her, not you,” Jacqui stated.

“Look, Jacqui, it’s not really a good time,” Myra said, and Craig could sense her gesturing towards him. He tried to shrink down in his seat.

“What’s he doin’ here?” Jacqui demanded. There was such contempt in her voice that Craig felt a shiver down his spine.

“Leave it, Jacq,” Myra warned.

“Why is he sittin’ in this house?” Jacqui asked.

“Because he’s a friend of John Paul’s,” Myra stated.

“Oh, yeah,” Jacqui said scornfully. “A friend of John Paul’s.” She walked around the sofa, her high heeled boots looking somehow menacing. “I want to know exactly what you want from our John Paul. He hasn’t got much left to offer, so don’t you dare try takin’ anythin’ else from him. And if you’re takin’ him for a ride, so help me God...”

Craig looked up at her and Jacqui stopped as she caught sight of his face, the puffy eyes and the tear stains. She looked at him for a moment, her face seeming to falter slightly, but she soon set it back into a snarl.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t,” Myra warned her. “He doesn’t need it right now. Just go into town. I’ll watch Max.”

Jacqui ignored her, sitting down at the coffee table and leaning into Craig. He leaned further back into the cushions, trying to put some space between them. “I hope you’re not fallin’ for it,” she said to Myra. “He wants you to feel sorry for him.”

“Jacqui, I won’t tell you again,” Myra replied.

“What’s your angle?” Jacqui asked him. “Cos we McQueens don’t give anythin’ up easily, so you might as well just give up now. She might be a soft touch, but you won’t get past the rest of us. So what exactly is it that you want? And what have you got to be cryin’ about?”

“Take no mind of her, love,” Myra said gently to Craig.

“ _‘Love’_?” Jacqui repeated bitterly. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually been takin’ in by this numpty.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Jacqui,” Myra told her. “I know you’re lookin’ out for John Paul, but give the kid a chance.”

“He broke my heart,” Craig cut in, the bickering reaching a crescendo and cutting through his brain. It was hurting. He needed to make it stop. “He’s breaking my heart. That’s why I’m crying.”

Jacqui stared at him, her face unreadable. “You what?”

“I fell for him,” Craig admitted. “I only ever wanted to help him. That’s why I sent the books. I wanted to help. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. And I never wanted anything from him. I never asked him for anything. And I wouldn’t have done. I don’t have an angle, I promise you. I just wanted to give him a friend. I wanted to be a friend. I’ve made a mess of it all. I didn’t mean for everything to get so complicated.”

He could feel the tears again but he forced them back. He had to stop this. All he’d done since last night was fall apart. But he wasn’t sure he believed himself anymore, because he did want something from John Paul. He wanted his affection. Maybe he’d wanted it all along. Maybe he’d always been so selfish that he was going to demand it, regardless of whether John Paul was in any position to give it or not. He felt a stab of guilt at the thought. He didn’t want to be that person. He didn’t want to prove Jacqui right. Because that would mean that he’d been bad for John Paul all along, and his last vestige of hope would be gone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Jacqui said, putting her hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down. She regarded him for a moment, her face unforgiving, and Craig had to look away. “He does seem to like you,” she finally said begrudgingly. She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. “How big a mess did you make?”

“What?” Craig asked, feeling lost and more than a little trapped.

“How much did you mess up?” Jacqui asked impatiently. “Did you hurt him?”

“I don’t know,” Craig admitted. “Probably. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Make it right,” Jacqui told him. “Or just leave him alone. Because if you hurt him for real, _really_ hurt him, your life will not be worth livin’.” Craig nodded mutely. He believed her. “And I’ll be checkin’,” Jacqui warned him. “John Paul is unhappy, I am unhappy, and when I’m unhappy, people get hurt. Are we understandin’ each other?”

“Yeah,” Craig said quickly. He’d always been worried about meeting Jacqui, because he knew she had a reputation for being mean and more than a little rough. He didn’t quite expect her to be this terrifying. And yet, in a way, it was quite endearing. She was looking out for her little brother. Craig was glad he’d grown up with someone so determinately having his back.

Jacqui nodded slowly, her mouth twisting as she continued to eye him up. “Good,” she finally replied, seeming content with his response as she leaned back and gave him some space.

“Anyway, I really should go,” Craig said, getting to his feet. “Thanks for the tea, Myra. And for listening.”

“Anytime,” Myra said firmly, walking with him to the door. “I mean that. You can ignore madam over there.” Craig glanced over, Jacqui still looking like she wanted to cause him some serious damage. “And don’t worry,” she said quietly as she opened the door for him. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.” Craig nodded. Somehow he didn’t quite believe that. “Just remember what I said though,” Myra told him. “About bein’ sure.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Thank you.”

“I just want what’s best for John Paul,” Myra replied. “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if that was you.”

Craig smiled. He couldn’t help it. He just hoped that she was right.

*

Craig walked into his flat and closed the door behind himself with a sigh. He was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, and his body felt heavy and stiff. He didn’t think he could take much more of this. He gave a weak smile to Steph who was sitting on the sofa, watching something on TV, and then he dragged his feet over to the kitchen, flopping down on a stool and leaning over the counter.

He heard light footsteps, and then Steph’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a hug as she rested her chin on his shoulder. He was so touched that he felt his body practically melt, his muscles relaxing, like he didn’t have to fight anymore.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “You’d be rambling on at me about it by now if you did. But I know there’s something wrong. I heard you crying last night. I’m here for you when you’re ready to tell me.”

Craig leaned back against her, lifting his hand and gripping onto her arm. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly on the words.

And then Steph just held him, comforted him, no questions asked. He closed his eyes and let himself feel safe.


	15. Chapter 15

_Craig_

 _You wasted a stamp on four words? What are you, made of money?_

 _I’m just kidding. I feel like I have to break the tension a lot when I’m talking to you. Maybe it’s my hang-up, but I feel like you take life far too seriously. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack. But, then, I’m sure I’m not helping, so I’m sorry._

 _And, yeah, of course we’re still friends. Best friends if you want. I’ll prove it to you if you come and see me. I don’t know what you said to my mum, but she seems to think that you’re the Second Coming or something, so she’s said you can take her place at the next visit. I think she likes you better than she likes me._

 _Anyway, let me know if you wanna come, and try not to worry about things. I know that’s a stupid thing to say, but I don’t want you sitting there beating yourself up over any of this. It’s out of our hands. Let’s just do what we can with what we’ve got._

 _John Paul_

*

Craig didn’t know what to expect as he walked into the visiting hall. John Paul’s letter had been so... flippant. After every heartbreaking thing that had been admitted between them, after the way that John Paul had dismissed it all so readily, so cruelly, he didn’t really know what to do with this. It was like John Paul was brushing it all under the carpet. And on some level, maybe Craig wanted that too, it would be better than the embarrassment of sitting opposite John Paul and pretending that he hadn’t been rejected by him, but he didn’t think it would do either of them any good. Not now that it was out there.

He spotted John Paul, seated at the table, and his stomach did a little flip, his heart seeming to clench in his chest. There was no way he could ever deny this. His urge to stride up to John Paul, to pull him into his arms, it was overwhelming. And then there was the devastation, the fact that he couldn’t have him, and that it had been John Paul himself who had put the final nail in the coffin.

Craig pushed the thoughts away, all of them. He reminded himself of Myra’s words. John Paul lashed out when he was scared or trapped. He probably regretted it now. Craig might still be hurt by some of the things that he’d said, but he had to understand that John Paul was vulnerable too. He had to give him a little space, take a step back, and hope that they could work this out.

Craig walked forward and John Paul looked up, meeting his eyes and giving him a smile. It looked like the same smile he’d given him on every other visit, but Craig found himself trying to look behind it now, trying to find out what it meant. It appeared friendly and unburdened, and so Craig felt sure that it must be a lie.

“Hi,” he said quietly, sitting down in the hard seat. His body was tense and his stomach was in knots. It was almost unbearable.

“Hi,” John Paul responded. He took in the sight of Craig for a moment and then leaned in, his face changing to something a little more sincere, a little more weighted down with everything. “Listen, I’m sorry. For being a twat. Sometimes I say things and I just... I have a big mouth. It’s a McQueen thing.” He gave a small laugh, but there was no humour in his eyes. “I didn’t mean most of it. Except the...” He motioned a finger between the two of them and then shook his head. The message was clear. Not going to happen.

Craig nodded. “I get it.”

John Paul sighed and looked down, seeming disappointed. Craig wasn’t quite sure how to take that response.

“I think you’re really cool,” John Paul offered. “I wanna be your friend. Honestly. I wish we’d known each other, because it would’ve been nice to have had a mate like you.”

“You do have a mate like me,” Craig pointed out.

John Paul looked up at him and smiled. It reached his eyes and Craig couldn’t help smiling back.

“Good,” John Paul said. “I fuck up a lot of things in my life. I don’t want to fuck up this.”

He ducked his head slightly, but met Craig’s eyes, almost like he was embarrassed to do so. There was a look on his face that was full of sincerity and vulnerability. And there was a fondness there too, or something that Craig recognised as fondness. It was a look he’d seen on his own face in the mirror countless times. It was that unnameable thing that he felt for John Paul. Seeing it there on John Paul’s face too, it gave Craig hope. He knew that he shouldn’t let it, but it did. Maybe they weren’t allowed to have this, but Craig could see it blossoming there anyway, growing between them without their consent.

“So, I’ll get the drinks,” he said, getting to his feet.

He stood at the vending machine, feeding the money in as he ran that look through his head over and again. He knew that he should stop. He was just going to torment himself with possibilities that he wasn’t allowed to pursue. But there was something so unintentional about that look that gave away so much.

Craig hadn’t really expected it to go like this, and he wasn’t sure whether to count his blessings or wait for the other shoe to drop. The fact was, he expected John Paul to be closed off, expected him to just pretend nothing had happened, nothing had been said between them. But the first thing he’d done was acknowledge it and the second thing he’d done was apologise. He wasn’t hiding. Craig couldn’t help but be heartened by that fact, even as he told himself not to get carried away with the feeling.

He headed back to the table, passing John Paul his drink as he sat back down opposite him.

“Thanks,” John Paul said. He took a sip. “So, I was just thinking, my opening line’s lost now that you’ve finished uni for the summer. What am I supposed to ask you now?”

Craig shrugged. “What do you do all day?”

John Paul seemed to tense up slightly. “What?”

“Well, what do you do?” Craig asked. “I mean, I don’t really know how it works. We could talk about that.”

John Paul put his cup down and leaned back in his chair. Craig could practically see the disaffected front going up. “Seven forty-five, they unlock the cells and you go to breakfast,” he began, not quite looking at Craig. “Then it’s ‘exercise’.” He rolled his eyes at that. “Standing in a yard. Sometimes we play football though. But if it gets rough, they stop it. Then there’s work and classes and stuff ‘til lunch.”

“Is that when you do your course?” Craig asked. He was leaning forward, trying to bridge the gap and reconnect.

“Nah, I do that after lunch,” John Paul replied. “Just three days a week. I could do more. Maybe I should. It’d pass the time.”

“So you work then?” Craig asked.

“I do some woodwork,” John Paul said. He seemed distant now, not looking at Craig at all. “It’s horribly repetitive and the sawdust just... drives me mad.” He shook his head. “So, anyway, twelve o’clock is dinner. There’s more work and classes in the afternoon. Tea at five fifteen. Then it’s ‘association’ ‘til eight o’clock when they lock you up again.”

“What’s association?” Craig asked.

“Socialising,” John Paul responded, sounding like it was the most awful thing in the world. “We pretend we’re civilised human beings. It’s recreation time really. You can do pretty much whatever. On weekends it’s pretty much all association.”

Craig nodded. “Do you have friends in here?”

John Paul looked at him then. There was something in his eyes that Craig couldn’t quite read. Fear? Pleading? Discomfort? Annoyance?

“I have people who don’t hate me,” John Paul finally stated.

Craig found his choice of words interesting. He said nothing of people he didn’t hate. Maybe that’s what the look was, contempt for his fellow inmates. John Paul shifted in his seat, seeming agitated.

“Look, can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah,” Craig said quickly. “Sorry. I just wondered. You’ve never talked about it.”

“I’d rather talk about anything else,” John Paul told him. “I like the visits because it’s a distraction. It’s almost like not being here.” He sighed. “Except that I don’t get to leave with you.”

Craig smiled at the words. He knew that he shouldn’t, knew it wasn’t the time, but he smiled, because the image was just too much. It was all he wanted. “I’d take you with me every time,” he said.

John Paul’s expression seemed to soften and then he leaned back in. He picked up his drink, like he’d moved forward to take a sip, but Craig couldn’t help thinking it was his words that had drawn him back and he couldn’t help but notice that John Paul wasn’t telling him not to speak like that.

“So, what’s a day in your life like?” John Paul asked.

“I’m not sure at the moment,” Craig replied. “I mean, like you said, I’ve finished uni. I need to sort out some work for over the summer. Get some money, keep me busy. It’ll be either my mum’s pub or my sister’s smoothie bar.”

John Paul shook his head. “No, that’s boring, you shouldn’t do that.”

Craig looked at him. “What?”

“It’s boring,” John Paul said. “You’re young. You need to go out there and do something exciting, something impulsive. Don’t be so responsible. Be silly. Act your age. Act less than your age. For me. Make the most of it.”

Craig smiled. It was sad really, the fact that John Paul wanted him to do something on his behalf, something that he wasn’t able to do himself, but Craig felt touched. He felt trusted. He felt like they were bonding, like the connection between them was going steadily deeper.

“What do you recommend then?” he asked.

“It’s supposed to be impulsive. I don’t know. Go bungee jumping,” John Paul suggested. Craig lifted his eyebrows, shaking his head. “No? Start smaller? Didn’t think you were gonna be a girl about it,” he teased.

“Oi,” Craig complained. “You’d jump from a crane would you?”

“There’s a bungee cord, Craig,” John Paul told him. “If there’s not, you’re doin’ it wrong.”

Craig gave him a look. John Paul just smiled at him and Craig thought that this felt like flirting. He knew he should push the thought away, dismiss it, but he daren’t. Because this wasn’t one-sided. And maybe it was matey banter, maybe it was nothing that they hadn’t shared before, but it felt different. They knew about each other now, each other’s feelings. This had to mean more.

“Alright, you should learn to skateboard,” John Paul said.

Craig shook his head. “Skateboard? I’m too clumsy. I’d fall on my face.”

“But you’d look good in those baggy jeans that go halfway down your arse,” John Paul told him.

Craig smiled. He felt himself blush. Friends didn’t tell each other things like that. Did they?

“John Paul,” he began.

John Paul clearly read his tone because Craig saw the wall go back up. His face settled into a warning look, even as his tone stayed gentle. “Don’t,” he said simply.

“But...”

“If you talk about it, you kill it,” John Paul said. “Don’t notice. If you don’t notice, it’s not there.”

Craig frowned. He wasn’t sure he understood. They were allowed to flirt so long as they didn’t acknowledge they were flirting? This thing between them was allowed to grow so long as it went unspoken?

Craig couldn’t help but think that was unfair. The reason he’d told John Paul in the first place was so that neither of them would have to pretend anymore. It seemed so pointless going through all that only to ignore this obvious chemistry between them. It seemed cruel. Craig wasn’t sure he could turn it off like that.

But then, at the same time, he wondered if John Paul was telling him something. He knew that this thing existed, even admitted to it. He and John Paul were in this together, whatever this was. Maybe that was something like having a relationship. Maybe that was what John Paul was willing to offer.

Still, he couldn’t help feeling like he was just being hopelessly, maybe even pathetically, deluded. He was certain romantic ideals didn’t belong in this situation.

“You should read a book or two,” John Paul told him. “While you haven’t got your head buried in a textbook.”

“And that’ll make my life more exciting, will it?” Craig asked.

“Probably not,” John Paul conceded. “It might make you a little more cultured.”

“Oh, so I’m not cultured?” Craig responded. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?” John Paul gave a nonchalant shrug, smirking slightly. “You got any recommendations for me then?” Craig asked casually. “A favourite book perhaps.”

John Paul smiled properly then. “That depends. How’s that fantasy football team doing for you?”

“Pretty well,” Craig replied. “Reckon I’ve got it in the bag.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John Paul said.

They shared a look, a loaded look filled with what Craig read as attraction. This was driving him mad. He was enjoying spending time with John Paul, enjoying the conversation, the teasing, the near-flirting, but it was John Paul’s mixed signals that were ruining it for him, making him feel uneasy and second guess himself. None of it could be taken on face value and it was almost like being back at square one. It was worse because his own mind was flip-flopping with John Paul’s.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” he asked. John Paul’s eyes darted to him, a clear warning there. “Look, I don’t mean now. I just want to know if this is it. I deserve to know that, right?”

“We’ve been through it,” John Paul said shortly.

“Have we?” Craig asked. “Because I have no idea where I stand right now.”

John Paul looked down. Craig could see him grinding his teeth. There was an emotion in his eyes that he was hiding, that he didn’t want Craig to see. It was like it was a struggle for him to keep it off his face. Craig waited. He gave him time to work it out. He hoped that, if he did that, he’d get something real.

“Okay,” John Paul finally said, looking up at him. “You’re my friend. And I... I can’t lose that. Because I don’t have a lot else going for me, Craig. So I don’t wanna complicate it, and I don’t wanna risk it. I know and you know and we... Can’t we leave it at that? Because I can’t... I kind of rely on this. Our friendship. I’m willing to be vulnerable enough to admit that if we can leave the rest unsaid.”

Craig felt his heart clench. John Paul’s eyes, they looked so sad, so imploring. Craig hated making him look like that. He hated making this difficult for him. He was up against so much, and if Craig’s friendship helped ease that, even a little, then he’d be there. He’d be what John Paul needed.

He reached his hand across the table, but John Paul pulled his own hands back until they were just out of reach. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Craig sighed, sagging against the table, but he didn’t retract his hand. He simply left it there, flat on the table, of symbol of what Craig would give in a heartbeat if John Paul had a way to accept it.

This was never going to be easy. It would always hurt. But Craig cared about John Paul’s happiness almost more than he cared about his own. He wanted him to be okay. He knew that, realistically, John Paul would never be okay, but Craig could make him as content as possible. He could stop asking difficult questions. He could wait and he could hope and he could be there. Because John Paul liked him, as more than a friend, and sitting across from him now, Craig felt like he had proof. It would tide him over for now. When he wasn’t here, he could even pretend.

*

As the visit came to an end, Craig got to his feet and John Paul sat there, looking up at him, a vague smile on his lips. It was like a sad repeat of the last visit, only this time it stung more, because John Paul knew how much Craig needed this.

“I’m glad you came,” John Paul said. “I’m glad you didn’t decide to just hate me. You could’ve done.”

“Stand up,” Craig told him.

John Paul looked taken aback. The cool facade fell away, that casual nature that he was trying to pass off as his own. “What?”

“I don’t hate you,” Craig said. “You know how much I don’t hate you. I want you to stand up.”

“Craig,” John Paul said, his voice edgy as his eyes glanced around.

“Please,” Craig implored. “I can live with the rest of it. But mates do each other favours.”

“Leading you on isn’t a favour,” John Paul muttered, so quiet that no one else would hear in the clatter of moving chairs. Craig only just caught it himself, but it made him ache. John Paul looked moodily up at Craig, who showed no give, even though he was shaking inside, and then he placed his palms flat down on the table, hefting himself to his feet like it was some great effort.

Craig stepped to meet him halfway and then John Paul’s arms were being thrown around him, slapping him on the back in that blokey fashion. Craig clung to him, feeling weak, and he breathed him in, everything so deliberate this time. It was so comforting to have him there, real, in the flesh. It was like their bodies answered one another, Craig’s skin heating, his heart racing, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It only lasted for a moment, before John Paul was releasing him again, but it seemed like pure perfection. It seemed like they were a fit.

“Thank you,” Craig whispered as his mouth grazed John Paul’s ear in the move apart.

John Paul simply shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, like he didn’t trust himself with them. Craig gave him an awkward smile, the blush on his cheeks making his eyes dart away in self-consciousness.

“Oh, hey, I need another book,” John Paul said, obviously trying to break the tension. Somehow the fact that he wasn’t doing it with a joke, like he normally did, made the moment seem more genuine. “I’m on the last chapter. If you’ll be going into town.”

“I’ll go on my way back,” Craig agreed.

John Paul smiled. “Thanks.” He shifted slightly on his feet. “Right, well, I should probably get back to my ‘association’ time,” he said, rolling his eyes at Craig.

“Yeah, don’t wanna miss that,” Craig replied.

John Paul nodded. “I’ll see ya then.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed.

They stood for an awkward moment, like neither wanted to turn away, dragging it out until the last second. Then, with a heavy sigh and a tired raise of his eyebrows, John Paul took a step away.

“You know,” Craig said, John Paul looking back at him again. “You could call me sometime when it wasn’t life or death. It wouldn’t be the most terrible thing ever, if you felt like it.”

John Paul gave a small, amused smile, one that maybe looked a little touched as well. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Good,” Craig replied. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you next time,” John Paul nodded.

He turned once more, heading back towards his cell, and Craig just watched him for a moment. It was funny how he could tell in the way John Paul walked that it wasn’t _his_ John Paul, the one who was so close to letting him in. There was something protected about the man that he saw walking away from him, something guarded. Craig just hoped that it would help to keep him safe. It was no good locking yourself away like that if people could still get in to hurt you.

Craig shook off the melancholy and turned around, taking a deep breath through his nostrils and pretending that John Paul was still lodged there, like he was taking a part of him with him. The smell was there, whether real or imagined, and Craig clung to it. He clung to every tiny thing that John Paul would allow him, even though he knew it would never really be enough.


	16. Chapter 16

John Paul’s body was hard, solid, warm beneath him. It was nothing like a girl’s body. Craig licked his neck, sucked on it, tasted salt on his tongue. John Paul’s hands were on his back, pulling him closer, sliding down his spine. It made Craig shiver. He couldn’t get enough.

He was hard, achingly so, his dick throbbing in time with his thundering heart. He pressed his hips downwards, rubbing the underside of his dick against John Paul’s thigh. The flesh was warm and slightly damp with sweat. He could feel a spike of arousal as he thrust against him, the friction and heat sending waves of pleasure through him, making him groan.

John Paul’s mouth was at his ear, sucking on the lobe. Craig could hear his ragged breath as their bodies moved, could feel his hands stroking and grabbing and holding. But the thing that stood out most for Craig was the smell. Not the smell of sex, but the smell of John Paul. Craig pressed his face into John Paul’s neck and smelt it now, savoured it, that musk that was so simple, so commonplace and yet, to Craig, it was intoxicating.

And that was it, the thing that was pushing him over the edge, that closeness, that intimacy, that level of knowing someone, of having them. It was like they were wrapped up in it, like there was some kind of heavy, invisible cloak around them that kept the world away, that made this just for them. Craig could practically feel it pressing against his skin. It made him feel safe.

He felt the first waves of his orgasm, felt his balls drawing up, the tightness of it, the almost unbearable throbbing. He felt the sparks, the heat in his belly, the tensing muscles up and down his body. He felt the rush of pure, pulsing pleasure take over his every cell. He felt John Paul beneath him, that mouth, those hands, that wonderful smell. And then he felt it all start to shatter.

*

Craig awoke to darkness and foggy headed confusion. He groaned at the sticky mess in his underwear and kicked at the duvet that had gotten wrapped around him, trying to get some air to his sweaty skin. He was slightly breathless, his senses still strumming, but he could feel a heavy frown on his face. He was embarrassed and more than a little disappointed in himself.

He rolled onto his back and pulled his underwear off, cringing a little at the dampness. He felt like he was fifteen again. The dream was still vivid in his mind, as was that smell, the one he’d memorised from his hug with John Paul less than twelve hours ago. That hug, it was so meaningful, a silent expression of all those deep feelings and emotions that had to remain unsaid, and Craig has basically managed to turn it into wank fodder.

He screwed his eyes shut and threw his forearm over his face. He was ashamed of himself, that’s what it boiled down to. He was ashamed of his body for betraying him like that and making everything about sex. This wasn’t supposed to be about sex. Not because he was disgusted by the idea of being with John Paul, not because he didn’t have a want for him that he couldn’t find words for, but because this was supposed to mean more than that. This did mean more than that. Clearly no one had informed his dick.

How was he supposed to face John Paul now? How was he supposed to sit opposite him and not think about those vivid images? And why couldn’t he push away all the questions that had suddenly sprung up in his mind about just what John Paul might really be like in bed?

Craig didn’t even know what two blokes did in bed. Okay, so he had an idea, but it wasn’t something he’d ever given a great deal of thought to. It wasn’t something that he wanted to give a great deal of thought to now, if he was honest. But the idea was there. The seed had been planted. In fact, Craig was starting to wonder just how long it had been growing.

*

“What are you up to today?” Steph asked as she got Tom’s football gear together.

Craig was laid across the sofa, flicking through an out of date TV listings guide because it was the only thing around. Maybe he did need to buy some books. “I don’t know,” he replied distractedly, noting that he’d missed a decent film last Thursday.

“You can always come help me out at Mobs later if you want,” Steph suggested. “Wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands.”

“Yeah, I might do,” Craig said. He tossed the magazine aside with a sigh.

“Are you alright?” Steph asked.

“Yeah,” Craig replied. He couldn’t get that dream out of his head, no matter what else he tried to think about. He couldn’t find a decent distraction and he wanted it to stop going around and around again, like some kind of perverted loop. “Just...” He waved his arm around vaguely in front of him, like he was going to somehow be able to explain his current state of mind to Steph, but then he just let it drop down heavily on him. “Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Oh, just nothing?” Steph responded. “Thanks, that’s insightful. I do like these little chats.” Craig gave her a look. “Anyway, if you’re at a loose end today there’s some stuff we need from the shop. I put a list on the fridge.”

“How considerate,” Craig remarked.

“If I sent you without a list, you’d probably come back with beer, comics and Pot Noodles,” Steph said.

“Give me some credit,” Craig replied. “No one with any self respect eats Pot Noodles.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Tom,” she called up the stairs. “Are you ready?”

“Coming,” Tom yelled back, and a few moments later he was thundering down the stairs like a baby elephant. “Have you got my shin pads?”

“It’s all in there,” Steph assured him, handing him the bag. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Craig?” Tom said, walking over to the sofa.

“Yeah, mate?” Craig replied.

“Will you take me to the park this afternoon and help me practice my tackling?” Tom asked. “We’re playing St. Peter’s Primary next week and their defenders are impossible to get past.”

“Yeah, course I will,” Craig told him. “And there’s no defender you can’t get around. Trust me.” Tom smiled at him.

“Come on, Tom,” Steph said, opening the door. “Don’t want to be late.”

“See you later, Craig,” Tom said.

“Yeah, I’ll see you this afternoon, buddy,” Craig agreed. “Then I can show you how it’s really done.”

Steph rolled her eyes at him. “Bye, David Beckham.”

“That’s the only football player you know the name of, isn’t it?” Craig said.

Steph shrugged, closing the door behind herself. Craig couldn’t help but laugh, forcing himself to his feet and going over to fetch the list from the fridge.

*

Craig kept his head down as he went into Drive ‘n’ Buy, concentrating on Steph’s list and forcing himself to focus and not let his mind wander. It was a stupid dream and it didn’t mean anything, apart from the fact that he hadn’t had a shag in a _really_ long time. That was what he tried to convince himself of. And it’s not like he really minded thinking about John Paul in that way, it wasn’t like he was freaking out at the prospect. It’s just that he hadn’t had a chance to get his head around it yet. He’d only just added kissing to the list of things that he wanted from John Paul. He didn’t know how his mind had suddenly jumped to this. He’d wanted his first thoughts in that direction to be so much more deliberate. He’d wanted to be in control of it. And so he dismissed the dream and he pretended that he got to decide when he thought about taking it further. He knew it didn’t work like that, but he was getting pretty good at denial.

He filled his basket with bread and biscuits and cereal and milk, heading to the till to pay. He looked up and realised for the first time that Hannah was behind the counter. She smiled at him, a beaming smile that still seemed shy. That smile alone made Craig see why John Paul would want to be friends with her.

“Hiya,” she greeted, starting to take things out of his basket and scan them.

“Hi,” Craig replied, giving her a smile back and hoping it looked genuine. There was a bloke stood next to Hannah, reading a music magazine. He glanced up at Craig, seeming slightly wary, before looking back down again.

“You alright then?” Hannah asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine, yeah,” Craig said a little too insistently. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Hannah nodded. “Probably shouldn’t be seen talking to you.”

“Why’s that?” Craig asked nervously.

“Sarah,” Hannah replied. “She’s out for your blood.”

Craig sighed, feeling that familiar knot of guilt in his stomach. “I know. I feel really bad about that. I keep thinking about ringing her, but I, well, I suppose I kind of chickened out.”

“Yeah, she’s on the warpath, you should probably leave it,” Hannah told him. “She was callin’ you all sorts.”

“Great,” Craig muttered. Like he didn’t have enough problems.

“Sarah got dumped by _you_?” the bloke asked, eyeing up Craig and looking greatly amused. “I suppose she’ll come back to me when she realises she wants a real man.”

“Why, do you know one, Rhys?” Hannah asked. Rhys gave her a look. Hannah turned back to Craig. “How’s John Paul, anyway? Have you seen him lately?”

“Oh, you’re not mates with that psycho fairy, are you?” Rhys asked him. “You need to forget about him, Han. You’re better off without. He’s locked up where he belongs. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Craig could feel his hands curl into fists, the urge to punch Rhys almost overpowering him. He couldn’t bear to hear anyone talking about John Paul like that. “Do you even know the first thing about John Paul?” he demanded.

“I know he’s a murderer,” Rhys shrugged.

“That wasn’t murder, that was self-defence,” Craig told him.

“Jimmy Hudson ran into his knife six times did he?” Rhys asked, a self-satisfied smirk playing over his face.

Craig looked down, something unpleasant twisting in his gut. He didn’t like to think about that. He always said he’d understood why John Paul had done what he’d done that night, that he would have done the same thing to protect his sisters, and it was true. But the actual act of stabbing someone in the chest six times, it stuck in Craig’s throat. He didn’t doubt that John Paul had been driven to it, but by exactly what, Craig couldn’t quite bear to think about.

“Just shut up, Rhys,” Hannah said. “You can be such an insensitive idiot.”

“Well, if you weren’t still pinin’ for him, maybe you could see him for what he is,” Rhys responded.

“Get lost,” Hannah told him. She finished putting Craig things through the till, taking his money from him and handing him his change. “Listen, do you fancy going for a drink or something?” she asked. “It’s a nice day for it.”

“What, now?” Craig asked.

“Yeah,” Hannah shrugged. “Go down to the SU Bar or something.”

Rhys looked up. “Erm, excuse me, I think you’re supposed to be working here.”

“It’s not busy,” Hannah responded. “I’m sure you can handle it on your own.”

“And if I tell dad you swanned off to the pub in the middle of your shift?” Rhys posed.

“I’ll tell him I did it because you were picking on me,” Hannah said, giving him that same smirk back. Craig couldn’t help but smile at her for throwing it back in his face.

“Yeah, a drink sounds good,” he said. Hannah beamed at him while Rhys glared.

“Great,” Hannah said.

“Just let me drop this stuff off upstairs and I’ll see you down here in a minute,” Craig replied, picking up his bag of shopping.

*

It was a nice afternoon so they sat at a table outside and the sun seemed to brighten Craig’s mood slightly, clear his head. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to go for a pint on a Sunday afternoon, just for the sake of it. It was kind of nice.

“I’m sorry about Rhys,” Hannah said, playing with the stem of her wineglass. “I’d like to think he was being protective of me, but I know he was just being an idiot really. He gets some kind of joy out of winding people up. It’s really sad. He needs to grow up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Craig assured her. “I’ve got a stepbrother like that.”

She gave him a small smile and then sat up a little straighter. “So, you never did get to answer my question,” she stated. Craig looked at her. “About John Paul,” Hannah said. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Yeah,” Craig said. “I saw him yesterday actually.”

“Really?” Hannah asked, seeming excited. “Well how is he?”

“He’s alright,” Craig nodded. He wasn’t really sure what else to say. He wasn’t sure how honest he should be with Hannah. Really, John Paul was alright, in the sense that he’d found a way to cope with things and not let it overwhelm him. So he was surviving, he was getting by without getting dragged down by it all, but he wasn’t exactly happy. His eyes didn’t shine. He thought he might break Hannah’s heart if he told her that though.

“Sometimes it’s still weird not having him around,” Hannah said. “I know it’s been a year, but sometimes I still hear a cool song on the radio and think that I need to ask John Paul about the band, or I’ll lose my notes for a lecture and I’ll think that I need to ask John Paul to borrow his. He always made really good notes.”

Craig smiled. There was something so innocent about that compliment. “It sounds like you two were close,” he commented. As he said the words, he realised that he was kind of jealous. He wished he’d had the chance to get to know John Paul before he’d gone to prison, before everything had gotten so complicated and dangerous for him.

“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “Used to do loads of stuff together. You know, when we were in school.”

Craig nodded. He imagined John Paul in his school uniform, the picture of innocence. He imagined those years he’d missed out on, carefree years of getting so drunk you couldn’t stand up, and trying not to let your parents know, years of sneaking out to hang out with your friends, years of awkward flirting and first kisses and trying to get rid of that pesky virginity that you couldn’t wait to lose and yet were kind of scared to let go of. Craig had had all those years too, of course. He just wished that he’d had them with John Paul.

“Bet you all used to have a laugh,” he said.

“Yeah, we really did,” Hannah agreed. There was something melancholy in her voice, like she missed those years. Or like she missed John Paul.

“Did you know Spike then?” Craig asked.

“Spike?” Hannah asked. She seemed surprised to hear his name. “How do you know about Spike?”

“John Paul told me about him,” Craig said.

“Did he tell you who he was?” Hannah asked. She seemed a little edgy or nervous.

“His first boyfriend,” Craig replied. He wasn’t quite sure where this was going.

“Oh, right,” Hannah said. “I just, I wasn’t sure if he’d told you. You know, that he was...”

“Gay?” Craig finished for her. “Yeah. Well, actually, Michaela kind of let slip.” Hannah nodded. “Did you know Spike then?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” Hannah replied. “He used to hang out with us sometimes.”

“What was he like?” Craig asked. He didn’t know why he was asking these questions. It was none of his business really. John Paul had already told him about Spike, and Craig should be happy with that, but he wanted to know more about the relationship. He wanted to know about John Paul’s type, what he was like when he was dating someone. He wanted to know if he could see himself in that picture.

“He was conceited, self-important, smug, bitchy,” Hannah replied, and Craig couldn’t help but notice that she sounded kind of bitter. “And he wasn’t even that good looking,” she went on. “Well, John Paul thought so, obviously. And Sarah thought he was fit. I couldn’t see it.”

Craig found it interesting that Sarah and John Paul would have the same taste in men. They didn’t seem to have much in common. But then Craig thought that, if he was Sarah’s type, that meant there was a pretty good chance he’d be John Paul’s type too. He knew that fact shouldn’t make him smile so much, after what he’d done to Sarah, but somehow, knowing that, in another world, he might have a real shot at this, it was everything he’d wanted to know. It meant that he still had a lot to fight for.

*

They shared a couple more drinks and Hannah chatted happily about John Paul, like he was her favourite topic of conversation. She told Craig about the time that John Paul nearly drowned her in the pond outside The Dog, the time that he won the DJ competition at The Loft, the dances at school and the parties they went to and the places they used to hang out. She was so animated when she spoke about him, always smiling, and Craig thought it was nice that John Paul had someone who obviously thought so much of him. He liked the thought of them together in simpler times.

“Can I ask you something?” Hannah asked, turning to face him.

“Yeah,” Craig replied.

“And will you tell me the truth?” she requested. “Because I know that John Paul doesn’t, and his family, they don’t even talk to me really. They think I’ve abandoned him or something.”

“You still write to him, don’t you?” Craig pointed out. “I know he appreciates it.”

“Yeah?” she asked hopefully.

Craig nodded. “What do you wanna know?”

“I want to know how he is,” Hannah said. “And I know you said he’s alright, but, what does that really mean?”

Craig looked down. He wasn’t sure how to answer. “He doesn’t like to talk about it much, to be honest. I think he finds some things harder to deal with than others. But he keeps his head up. He’s still got a sense of humour. And he smiles. Not always, but he does smile. I like to think that’s a good sign.”

Hannah nodded. “I just keep thinking, it can’t be easy. I know how much I miss him. It’s awful. But it must be a million times worse for him. He’s missing out on everything. I don’t even like to think about it, if I’m honest. I know that’s kind of horrible, but I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Craig agreed. “And neither does he. He like to focus on the good stuff, the stuff he can cope with. Which is smart, I guess. When I visit, we usually just have a joke and a laugh. You know, like mates. I think it’s what he needs. And there’s always undertones, you can’t ever really forget where you are. I don’t think he ever lets his guard down fully. But I know he wouldn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.”

“No,” Hannah agreed. “He’s lucky to have you.” The sentiment made Craig smile, a flush of pride making him glow. “If I ever got up the guts to go see him, I’d probably just sit there and cry,” she went on. “I’m glad he’s got you.”

“I’m glad I’ve got him,” Craig returned. “I feel like he’s changed me. Made me look at things differently. That sounds daft, but, I dunno... I think I appreciate things more. Or I try. And I like havin’ a best mate. Someone who’s... special.”

He looked at Hannah, and he was tempted to tell her everything. How they were falling for each other like the plot of some cheap romance novel, how he’d never felt this way about anyone before, how he could feel this tug and he knew that things would be unbelievable between them if they just had half a chance to explore it. He didn’t though. It didn’t seem right to gush about John Paul like that somehow. It would be like betraying his confidence.

He looked away, drinking his pint, and his mind wandered back to that dream, melancholy tingeing the edges of his mood. All of the things that he wasn’t allowed to have. He wondered if this thing would be too scary though, if John Paul was right in front of him now. He wondered if he would have admitted anything if there was a chance he’d have to act on it. It wasn’t something he’d even considered before. They would have kissed by now, maybe even more. Would Craig really have been able to go through with that? Would he be so smitten with another bloke if he actually had to follow through on all these promises he was making about want?

The thoughts troubled him. He’d spent so long questioning this, questioning his feelings, questioning his motives, questioning just what it all said about him. And, yeah, the thought of kissing John Paul definitely made him tingly, and that dream had been, well, kind of spectacular if he was honest, but what did that really mean? Was there a chance he was so comfortable with this because he knew he’d never have to put it to the test?

He didn’t think that was true. His feelings were genuine, uncontrollable. But now there was a niggling doubt. Maybe he would still be hiding from them if John Paul was just a regular friend. Maybe he wouldn’t even have bothered looking for them in the first place.

While they were sat there, some skaters had turned up at the halfpipe opposite, and Craig found himself watching them now, the way they went back and forth on it, occasionally doing little tricks, trying to see who could go the highest. It made him smile.

“John Paul said I was too boring,” he told Hannah.

“He said that?” Hannah asked, like she thought that was kind of a rude thing to say to someone.

“He was just teasing,” Craig said. “And offering me some advice. He asked me to do something more exciting. You know, on his behalf.”

“Did he?” Hannah asked. She was smiling now.

“One of his suggestions was to take up skating,” Craig told her, looking over at the halfpipe again.

“Skating?” Hannah repeated.

Craig got to his feet. “Suppose now’s as good a time as any.”

“Craig, what are you doing?” Hannah asked, her pitch creeping slightly higher. He made his way over to the halfpipe, and Hannah followed after him. “Craig!”

“Alright,” Craig said to the collective group as he reached them. They all stopped and looked at him. Not one of them looked over fifteen.

“What do you want?” one of them asked.

“You mind if I have a go?” Craig asked. They all stared at him.

“You skate?”

“Well, not exactly,” Craig replied. “Technically, not at all. But my friend suggested it. How hard can it be?”

They all exchanged looks, like it would be really quite amusing to watch Craig make an idiot out of himself. Then one of them offered out his board.

“Go on then.”

“Cheers,” Craig said, taking the board and stepping up onto the halfpipe. He made his way to the top.

“Craig, I really don’t think this is a very good idea,” Hannah said.

“It’s for John Paul,” Craig shrugged, like that fact would somehow keep him safe.

He put his board in position, hanging rather precariously over the lip of the halfpipe, and looked down. It seemed higher from up here. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But it would be a good story to tell John Paul if nothing else. Maybe he’d even be proud of him. That thought spurred Craig on.

He shifted his weight forward, rocking the board, and, as he started to roll downwards, he thought for a second that he might actually make it. But then he was just falling and there was nothing he could do about it. He mostly saved himself by landing on his palms, but the skateboard went under his right shin, connecting harshly. He grimaced at the flourish of pain.

“Craig, are you alright?” Hannah asked, her voice full of concern as she ran over to him. He could hear the skater kids laughing their arses off at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he dismissed, sitting up and rubbing at his shin.

“Are you sure?” Hannah asked. “That looked painful.”

“I’m still in once piece,” Craig replied. He got to his feet with Hannah’s help and kicked the skateboard back towards the kids. “Yeah, alright, very funny.”

“Not gonna have another go?” one of them teased.

“Let’s just go sit down again,” Hannah suggested.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Maybe I’ll tell John Paul that it’s not really for me.”

Hannah giggled at that, putting an arm around him as he limped back to the table.

*

When he got home, Tom jumped to his feet, a football in his hands. “Can we go now, Craig?”

“Where’ve you been?” Steph asked, looking up from her magazine.

“Went for a drink with a mate,” Craig replied.

“You’ve got a mate?” Steph joked.

“Ha ha,” Craig said, giving her a look. “Come on, Tom, let’s leave Princess Stephanie to it. Just be gentle with me. I’ve had a rough day.”

“What happened?” Tom asked.

“I’ll tell you when she’s not around to make fun of me,” Craig responded.

“Have fun, boys,” Steph called, putting her feet up as they headed out of the door.

They stayed at the park until it started to get dark, Craig showing Tom all of his best moves from when he was on the school team, and his found his mind wandering back to John Paul again. He’d once told Craig that he should get back into playing football. Maybe he was right. It was a lot safer than his attempt at skateboarding anyway. And he was enjoying himself. He felt free and maybe a little childish. If nothing else, he definitely had to come for a kickabout with Tom more often.

On the way back to the flat, they got chips from the fish shop and Craig told Tom his embarrasing story about what had happened at the skatepark earlier that day.

“But you can’t skate,” Tom said, like Craig was some kind of idiot.

“Yeah, I really can’t,” Craig agreed.

“Well why did you do it then?” Tom asked.

Craig shrugged. “Sometimes you need to take risks,” he said. “Just to make sure.” The sentiment seemed quite fitting to his life in general right now.

*

When he went to bed that night, Craig’s mind automatically went to John Paul, to that dream. He thought it over in the darkness and he could feel his body wanting to respond. And he could have gone with it. He could have reached into his boxers and let those thoughts guide him. He felt like he wasn’t quite ready to take that step yet though. Not while he was awake. It was like John Paul hadn’t quite given him that piece of himself to play with yet. It would be like cheating. So he could wait. And if he had another dream, that would all be perfectly innocent, right?


	17. Chapter 17

Craig didn’t have the dreams every night. Some nights he had mundane dreams and some nights he had no dreams at all. But his mind conjured up _those_ dreams just often enough for him to know that there was something fairly substantial behind it all. It meant something. There was no way to brush that fact aside. The realisation gave him some kind of comfort.

The dreams were so vivid, so full of delicious details. They were immediate and all consuming and they constantly tricked Craig’s senses into believing that John Paul was really there with him. In those drowsy seconds when he awoke and the sensations were still echoing dully around his body, it always took him a few moments to comprehend that John Paul wasn’t there. That John Paul was never going to be there. It didn’t seem right.

*

“Craig, can you give me a hand with this?” Steph called from the kitchen where she was frantically stirring something.

“I’m helping Tom with his homework,” Craig dismissed.

“You are not,” Steph replied. “I can see the pair of you. You’re reading comics.”

“For an art project,” Craig told her. “It’s research.”

“I have to design a new superhero,” Tom said. “I want armour, like this guy,” he told Craig, pointing at a particular drawing.

“Armour’s cool,” Craig agreed. “But anything too bulky will slow you down.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Tom said, nodding sagely.

“Hey, Steph, did we ever get homework that was this much fun?” Craig asked. “I would have loved this.”

“You _are_ loving it,” Steph pointed out. “Grow up and get over here.”

“Alright,” Craig said, rolling his eyes. He handed the comic to Tom and got to his feet. Halfway to the kitchen, his phone rang. He took it out excitedly. “I have to take this.”

“What?” Steph asked, clearly annoyed. “Craig!”

Craig didn’t answer, he just switched directions and headed up the stairs. As he closed his bedroom door behind himself, he accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Hi,” the voice responded. “It’s John Paul.”

“Hi,” Craig replied, a smile spreading slowly over his face. He’d been hoping for this every day since he’d last seen him.

“You said I could call,” John Paul said, his voice a little tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was overstepping some line or not. “You know, when it wasn’t life or death.”

“Definitely,” Craig agreed quickly. “I’m glad you did.” He sat down on his bed. “Actually, you just saved me from having to help my sister make tea.”

“Oh,” John Paul said happily. “I guess I have my uses then, ay?”

“More than you know,” Craig told him. There was a silence then, and Craig wondered if that was one of the things that he was supposed to keep to himself. John Paul never told him off though. He never asked him not to say things like that.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, actually,” Craig said, breaking into the silence.

“What?” John Paul asked. He seemed worried, and Craig couldn’t help but notice how entirely unsure of himself he’d sounded since Craig had picked up the phone. He seemed kind of nervous. Craig wondered if it was the same giddy anticipation he felt at the prospect of speaking to John Paul.

“I have a magnificent bruise on my shin,” Craig told him, bringing his leg up onto the bed with him and lifting his jeans to look at it. It really was impressive, one of those bruises that were shaded different blues and purples and yellows, spreading over his lower leg.

“How’d you do that?” John Paul asked.

“Skateboarding,” Craig replied simply.

There was a short silence, and then John Paul gave an incredulous little laugh. “Skateboarding?”

“Yeah,” Craig told him, laying back on the bed and getting himself comfortable as he spoke. “I gave it a go.”

“I take it it didn’t go very well then,” John Paul stated.

“I pretty much just fell over and got laughed at by a bunch of kids,” Craig responded. John Paul laughed, a sound that Craig couldn’t quite get enough of. “Yeah, thanks for your support,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” John Paul said, his voice still filled with laughter. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“I did it for you,” Craig told him. “In your honour, like you said. You should’ve seen it. I was very gallant.”

“Wish I could’ve been there,” John Paul agreed. There was a tiny note of melancholy in his voice that set off that instinct in Craig to hold him.

“Oh, Hannah was there,” Craig said. “We’d gone for a drink when the urge seized me.”

“You went for a drink with Hannah?” John Paul asked. “Are you working your way through my friends or something?”

“Not like that,” Craig told him wearily. “Just as mates. I only have eyes for one person.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that one,” John Paul told him, but he sounded teasing. He sounded like he was maybe flirting. It made Craig smile and feel a little flushed, but he was learning not to push his luck.

“She’s nice though,” Craig said. “Hannah. She’s sweet. Seems like she’d be a good mate.”

“Yeah, she’s a brilliant mate,” John Paul agreed. “I’ve never met anyone with such a good heart. Except maybe our Carmel. But you stick with Hannah and I don’t reckon you’ll go too far wrong.”

“Well, she did try and stop me putting my life in danger with that skateboarding,” Craig agreed.

“Putting your life in danger?” John Paul repeated, amusement in his voice. “I think you might be exaggerating slightly.”

“I nearly killed myself,” Craig insisted.

“Right, so, I’m guessing daredevil stunts are not your thing,” John Paul stated. “What can you do?”

“I’m really good at complex equations,” Craig replied.

“You are the most boring person I have ever met,” John Paul told him.

“Hey,” Craig complained. “I’m your best friend.”

“Yeah, and what does that say about me?” John Paul responded.

Craig could tell what he was doing, keeping him at arm’s length like that. Whenever Craig started to get close to this thing between them, to how close they’d become, John Paul would say something funny like it was a joke or he’s talk around things until he’d managed to change the subject. But Craig could see that, in his own way, he was acknowledging it all the same, accepting it, because he never tried to tell Craig to stop and he never seemed to get upset. He simply let it be.

“So, guess what I did today,” John Paul said.

Craig was taken aback by the ease in his voice because John Paul never spoke about himself, about what he did. He never volunteered anything. Craig felt himself stall, strangely touched by the simple offering of commonplace information.

“Erm, I dunno,” he finally managed to stutter out.

“I wrote a song,” John Paul told him. “At least, I think I wrote a song. Musical composition isn’t really something I know a lot about. I’m used to playing with other people’s tunes. I can tinker around on an acoustic guitar alright, but it’s not really me. Still, I think what I ended up with was a song.”

Craig smiled. He loved the image of John Paul strumming away on his guitar. There was something sexy about the creativity and broodiness that it evoked. “What’s it about?” he asked.

“It’s a secret song,” John Paul told him.

“Then why are you telling me about it?” Craig asked.

“Because I’m kinda proud,” John Paul replied, and Craig could practically hear the shrug in his voice, like he was brushing it off. “And I just wanted to tell you.”

Craig couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride that John Paul was proud of something, and that he had chosen Craig as the person he was going to tell about it. Somehow it seemed so unlike John Paul. He always talked himself down, made it sound like everything was pointless or boring, like nothing was of any consequence to him anymore. Craig had always hated that resignation in him that was so close to giving up. And even though he was playing this down too, there was a hope in what he was saying, something that was almost childlike.

“I’d love to hear it,” Craig said.

“Well, not much chance of that unless you’re gonna come sit in my cell with me,” John Paul replied.

“I would,” Craig told him.

“I know you would,” John Paul responded. “You’re like my stalker.”

“And you love it,” Craig said cockily.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed easily. Craig wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“Craig, dinner’s ready,” Steph yelled up the stairs at him. “No thanks to you.”

Craig moved the phone away from his mouth. “Yeah, alright,” he shouted back.

“What was that?” John Paul asked.

“Just my sister telling me dinner’s ready,” Craig replied.

“Guess I should let you go then,” John Paul said. There was a note of regret in his voice.

“No, it’s cool,” Craig assured him. “Steph’s food only tastes marginally better when it’s warm anyway.”

John Paul gave a small laugh. “Okay, then.”

There was a silence, one that wasn’t uncomfortable. Craig stared at the ceiling and listened to John Paul’s rhythmic breaths in his ear. It was almost like having him there. He felt close to him, felt like they were connected by something so much stronger than a phone line. He let his eyes slip closed and he imagined him, warm and real, that heat that his body always seemed to evoke in Craig. It wasn’t sexual, not really. He no longer shied away from that side of his attraction to John Paul, having more or less managed to get his head around it, but this heat, it was much more innocent than that. It was body heat, the fact that, in the couple of times that they’d touched, hugged, John Paul was always warm to the touch.

Craig wondered where John Paul’s thoughts were, if he ever thought about him like that. He always kept his cards very close to his chest, but that one strained admittance that he liked Craig back, it always left Craig trying to imagine exactly how. Was it physical? Did he think he was funny, kind, smart? Did he think he was sad and uncool, but kind of amusing all the same? That was the impression he tended to give, but Craig knew there was often a lot more going on under the surface with John Paul. He doubted that he’d ever get the real answer. He just hoped he wasn’t completely imagining the affection that he often thought he heard in John Paul’s voice and saw in his eyes.

“So, what else have you been up to?” John Paul asked. “You know, apart from risking your life in my honour.”

Craig smiled. “Not much,” he admitted. “Helping Tom with his footie skills. And his homework.”

“Sounds like he’s lucky to have you around,” John Paul commented.

“If it wasn’t for me, Steph would probably have him in dance school or something,” Craig said. “Hey, if you were a superhero, what would be your superpowers?”

“A superhero?” John Paul repeated, sounding kind of thrown by the question.

“Tom has to design a superhero for this art project for school,” Craig explained. “We were talking about some pros and cons of different superpowers. I just wondered what you’d have.”

“Hmm,” John Paul said thoughtfully. “I think I’d have the ability to walk through walls so I could get out of this place. Or not. I dunno. What would you have?”

“I’d kind of like to fly,” Craig said. “But that seems too predictable. I feel like I could come up with something better.”

“You’d be dangerous if you could fly,” John Paul told him. “Look at the damage you did to yourself on a skateboard.”

“Yeah, fair point,” Craig agreed.

“I’d like to have moral x-ray vision,” John Paul said, his voice strong and certain, like he’d made up his mind.

Craig frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I could look at someone and tell what their intentions were,” John Paul said. “I could always tell the good guys from the bad guys. And I’d be able to do something about it. That’d be my superpower.”

Craig wasn’t sure if John Paul didn’t have that power already. He knew about Jimmy Hudson the first time he met him. Not that he could do anything about it. But then Craig thought about Niall, about the fact that John Paul trusted him, and he knew that John Paul didn’t really possess that superpower. Everyone was fallible.

“That’s a good one,” he said.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed, sounding kind of distant. Craig wondered what he was thinking about. “What would yours be?”

Craig thought about the one thing he wanted more than anything. “Projection,” he decided. “The ability to be wherever I wanted to be. Any time, any place. I wouldn’t have to miss out on anything.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” John Paul said. “No boundaries, right?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Nothing standing in the way.”

There was another silence, this one seeming loaded with all those things that went unsaid. Even without the words, Craig could tell they were thinking the same things.

“Anyway, I really should let you go,” John Paul said. “Don’t want your sister hating you on my account.”

“I think I’ve given her enough reasons over the years to hate me. It really wouldn’t be your fault,” Craig assured him.

“I dunno,” John Paul said. “You sound like a good brother to me.”

“Well, you know a thing or two about being a good brother, so I’ll take your word for it,” Craig replied.

“Stop trying to suck up,” John Paul told him, that teasing note in his voice that always made Craig smile.

“You started it,” he responded.

“Yeah, this battle of wits is too fierce for me,” John Paul said. “Go eat your tea. I’ll talk to you another time.”

“Do,” Craig said. “Call again, I mean. It was really good to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. “We still need to find you an exciting hobby.”

“You can say it was good to talk to me too,” Craig told him. He wasn’t upset at John Paul’s avoidance, he just wasn’t quite so scared to push a little and not let him get away with it.

“It was,” John Paul granted. “I like talking to you.” Craig smiled. It felt like some huge victory. “I get marginally more sense out of you than I do my sisters,” he added. Craig rolled his eyes. “I’ll talk to you again soon, alright?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Sounds good to me.”

“Alright,” John Paul said. “Enjoy your tea.”

Craig gave a small laugh. “You haven’t seen Steph’s cooking.”

There was a short silence. Craig wanted to say something heartfelt, but he couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know how to sum up how much something like a simple phone call meant to him. He wondered idly what words John Paul was failing to come up with before he spoke again.

“Right, I’m saying bye,” John Paul stated.

“Yeah, bye,” Craig agreed. “Take care of yourself.”

“You my mum now?” John Paul teased.

“No,” Craig said simply. He didn’t dare venture a response as to what he really was to John Paul.

“Bye,” John Paul said, a softness in his voice.

“Bye,” Craig returned. He was sure it was a good ten seconds before John Paul finally hung up on him.

Craig stayed where he was for a while afterwards, laid back on his bed, digesting the phone call. He felt embarrassingly dreamy about the whole thing. Maybe it was just his state of mind, but everything with John Paul felt like flirting. It all left Craig feeling kind of... loved up. He wasn’t sure how else to describe it.

He got to his feet and shoved his phone back into his pocket, finally making his way downstairs. Steph and Tom were seated at the counter, eating some pasta dish. Steph stared daggers at Craig as he approached.

“Oh, decided to join us, did you?”

“Sorry,” Craig muttered, walking over to his plate. “This looks good.”

“It’ll be cold,” Steph told him. “Who was on the phone?”

Craig sat down with his food. He thought about lying, but he decided to just tell the truth. Part of him wanted to shout it from the rooftops, even though he was slightly wary of the response he’d get.

“John Paul,” he said quietly, spearing some pasta with his fork.

“He calls you now?” Steph asked. Craig gave a shrug, putting the pasta in his mouth. It was pretty cold. Steph looked thoughtful, which made Craig nervous. “Is he alright then?” Steph asked. “You’ve never really said much about him.”

Craig knew what the real question was there. Is he dangerous? Are you safe? Are you putting yourself at risk? Craig could understand where she was coming from, but it still stung that someone would think about John Paul like that.

“He’s just a normal bloke,” he told Steph. “He’s like me. Only maybe even better than me.”

Steph nodded. She looked wary of the way Craig was speaking about him, like he’d been brainwashed by some criminal mastermind. “Just watch your back,” she warned.

“Steph,” Craig complained, affronted by the implication.

“I’m not havin’ a go,” Steph assured him. “You know I wouldn’t. I’m not judging. I just...”

“I know,” Craig said. Steph gave him a little smile and turned her attention back to her food. “Tom, I’ve got a superhero power for you,” Craig told him.

“What?” Tom asked.

“The ability to tell the good guys from the bad guys with a single glance,” Craig said dramatically. Tom looked at him for a moment, and then he frowned.

“But you can always tell the good guys from the bad guys in comics,” Tom said. “It’s easy.”

Craig looked down, feeling somewhat defeated. “Suppose.” He wished it were that simple in real life.

*

After dinner, Craig helped Tom design his superhero. Tom gave him laser eyes to turn his enemies to a pile of dust, heavy armour that stopped bullets, and the ability to smash things, like The Hulk. Craig had to agree that it was all quite effective, but it just seemed too predictable. None of it had any real heart. But Tom was an eight year old boy. Eight year old boys rarely thought about heart. It was a simpler time, Craig thought longingly.

When Tom was in bed and Craig had appeased Steph by doing all the washing up, he took Tom’s drawing pad and colouring pencils and headed up to his room, sitting down at his desk. He drew a rough sketch of a man on the paper. A very rough sketch of a man, because drawing, he was reminded, was not his strong suit. Still, he didn’t try to draw him as a superhero. He just drew a regular man, or his best approximation of one. And then he started labelling the superpowers.

First there was moral x-ray vision and the ability to be anywhere at any time. Then he added thick skin that would deflect hurtful comments, bones that didn’t break, flesh that wouldn’t bruise or scar. Things to keep him safe from harm. He added the ability to camouflage himself, so that he wouldn’t attract attention in dangerous situations, he added resourcefulness, so that he could always find the right answer, and then he added a button to call for backup, because every superhero needed to know that somebody had their back. No one should ever have to go it alone.

Craig coloured in his superhero carefully in bland, everyday colours, and then he gave him a name – John Paul.

He smiled to himself as he looked him over. Everything that he wished he could give to John Paul, the tools that he would need to survive. Maybe Craig was naive, maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. But he figured it would be a pretty good start.

He folded the piece of paper and put it in an envelope, sealing it up. He didn’t write any explanation to go with it. He didn’t think it would need one. John Paul would get it. He placed the stamp on the envelope and wrote on the address, grabbing his jacket and heading out for a late night stroll to the post box.


	18. Chapter 18

For the first time, Craig wasn’t bothered by the guards. He didn’t care about having to turn his pockets inside out or getting frisked or the stern, challenging looks on their faces. The unpleasant feeling that usually accompanied the whole ordeal wasn’t there. He felt like he’d jump through any hoops necessary to get to John Paul right now. Nothing could bring him down.

When he saw John Paul sitting there in the visiting hall, he thought that the feeling might be mutual. John Paul’s face lit up in the most beautiful way when he saw Craig and it warmed Craig’s heart to see him like that. Craig gave him a smile and gestured towards the vending machines. John Paul nodded and Craig headed over to fetch their drinks before going to join him.

“You’re a star,” John Paul told him as he took a sip of his coffee.

Craig couldn’t help but beam at the compliment. It was stupid really, blushing over something so tiny, but when John Paul said things like that to him it made him feel kind of funny. In a good way. He thought that might make him a teenage girl, but he couldn’t seem to care.

He watched John Paul for a moment, just taking him in. Being this close to him, it was a rare privilege. He let his eyes wander, trying to take in every detail, things he might not have noticed before, and commit them to memory. He didn’t get this chance anywhere near often enough.

As his eyes landed on John Paul’s, he saw a similar look mirrored there. It was almost like John Paul was searching him, but there was something wary in the way his eyes moved over Craig. It was like he didn’t quite trust himself to make the right call. There was something so sad and lost about that fact. But Craig recognised what was underneath the fear. Something like fondness, something like longing. All of the things they weren’t allowed to speak about.

Their eyes met and Craig could feel something between them. It was like a tug that pulled deep inside his gut, the other side of the rope tied to John Paul’s core. That was the only way he could think to describe it. They couldn’t be together, and yet Craig felt certain that they couldn’t be apart either, that they _weren’t_ apart. The cord was there between them, silent and invisible and unnoticed until it was far too late to try and untie it.

John Paul’s gaze flicked away as he turned his attention across the room. He wasn’t exactly being dismissive, just maybe scared. Craig was scared too. This thing, it was powerful, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Everything was so amplified by the impossibility of their situation. It was like it had been blown out of all proportion. That had to be what it was. Nothing could be as intense or as intrinsic as this otherwise.

John Paul looked back again, a smile playing vaguely over his lips now. It was almost like he’d needed a moment to collect himself. “So, risked your life in any death defying stunts lately?” he asked.

Craig gave a small laugh. “No,” he said. “Think I’m gonna stick to the footie for a while.”

John Paul nodded. “Probably a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “I wanna show you something though. So you can appreciate what I’ve been through for you.”

He shifted his chair back slightly and lifted his left foot up onto the table. John Paul looked at him curiously. Craig slid the leg of his jeans upwards, showing John Paul the bruise on his shin. John Paul gave an incredulous little laugh, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you _really_ fell,” he said. “That looks painful.”

“It’s actually gotten a lot better,” Craig told him. “It was more impressive than that before.” He put his leg down and shifted his chair forward again. “It was worth it though.”

“Yeah?” John Paul asked, looking slightly amused.

“Yeah,” Craig said simply.

John Paul gave a small nod, lifting his coffee to his lips. “Nice legs, by the way.”

Craig instinctively ducked his head, embarrassed by the casual compliment, but then he looked up again, meeting John Paul’s eyes. There was something mischievous there, something flirtatious and a little bit naughty. It made Craig blush, but it gave him a thrill too, unconsciously licking his lips.

“Flexible too,” John Paul added.

Craig leaned in, rising to the challenge. “You should see the non-bruised one.”

“Let’s leave a little mystery in our lives,” John Paul said. Craig couldn’t help but smile.

They lapsed into silence then, but they didn’t stop communicating. It was all there in their eyes, their body language, the subtle looks they were giving one another. So much of what existed between them went unsaid, it had to, for more reasons than Craig could count. That fact didn’t stop him from believing in what they had though. It didn’t stop it being real.

It was frustrating, not being able to have what he wanted so badly, but mostly it was just kind of melancholy if he was honest. At times it was devastating, but it didn’t make him angry so much as sad. Sad that some of the subtleties might be lost in translation. Sad that he couldn’t be certain that John Paul understood the depth of it, how far Craig’s feelings had evolved from a straight boy who was looking for a friend.

He thought of the dreams, of the thoughts he had when he was awake. He thought of how they made him feel, like this thing between them was more than words that would never be said. Like they were together in some alternate life whenever he closed his eyes.

He leaned forward even further, wanting to eradicate every millimetre of space between them, wanting it to be only them. There was the table between them though, a cold and solid barrier. This was as near as they could get.

“I want to tell you something,” he said, his voice hushed.

John Paul’s face changed slightly at his tone and he leant in too. Craig felt like they were breathing the same air, sharing it between them.

“What?” John Paul asked.

“I, erm...” Craig stopped and took a breath. He felt a little too hot. Anticipation was coursing through his veins, but it was the good kind of anticipation. It was all to do with giddiness and love. “I have dreams about you.”

John Paul frowned. Craig couldn’t quite read his expression. Maybe he was confused or intrigued, or maybe it was apprehension.

“What kind of dreams?” John Paul asked.

“The kind where you wake up sticky,” Craig replied. He gave John Paul a suggestive look, trying to make light of it in the same way John Paul did. John Paul clearly wasn’t buying it. His face fell, something simmering just below the surface.

“Why would you tell me that?” he asked, his voice strained, something like warning in his eyes.

Craig faltered, feeling completely unsure of himself all of a sudden. “What?”

“What am I supposed to do with that?” John Paul asked.

Craig shook his head, not understanding. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected and he had no idea what to do with this. He could practically see John Paul shutting him out.

“I...”

“That is just...” John Paul seemed to shrink away slightly. It was like he was disgusted. Craig could feel himself panicking, clambering to make sense of it. “I don’t need that, Craig,” John Paul said with distaste. “I don’t need your objectification.”

“That’s not...” Craig began. “John Paul, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Well what did you mean?” John Paul demanded. “You can’t...” He looked around, as though remembering where he was, and then lowered his voice. “You can’t have me,” he said. “I may as well be in a glass case. And now you tell me that you’re...” He looked away, tears brimming at his eyes. Craig knew instinctively that he wouldn’t cry though. He wondered if he ever cried anymore.

“John Paul, we were just...” Craig said, trying to find the right words, the words that would make this better. He was trying to get his head around what John Paul was saying, but this whole thing had come out of nowhere. “I thought we were...”

John Paul looked at him again. It was like he was forcing an expression of contempt to hide the pain. Craig hated that he felt like he had to do that.

“You made it seedy,” John Paul said. His tone was disappointed. Disappointed in Craig. It broke Craig’s heart. His eyes fell down. “I told you that I closed that door. I thought you respected that. I thought...” He swallowed, let out a shaky breath. “This is everything that I can’t deal with, Craig. Because I can’t have it. I’m locked up in this fucking box so I have to turn it off. How can you tell me that you’re thinking about me like... _that_ , when I can’t, I can’t...” Craig looked up at him. John Paul put his head in his hands. “I can’t,” he said quietly.

Craig reached out. He couldn’t help it. He reached out and he grazed his fingers over John Paul’s forearm. He needed to comfort him. He needed to make this better. As soon as he made contact though, John Paul pulled sharply away, moving to sit back in his chair. His eyes seemed almost dangerous, and for the first time since he’d met John Paul, Craig could see the potential for violence in him. It didn’t scare him as much as he thought it should.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” John Paul told him.

Craig leaned in further, trying to make himself heard without letting anyone else in on their conversation. “You were flirting with me two seconds ago,” he said. John Paul looked dismissively away. “You said I had nice legs.”

John Paul leaned in, making Craig flinch slightly with the speed and ferocity of the movement. “I didn’t tell you I thought about fucking you.”

“I didn’t tell you that either,” Craig replied. John Paul rolled his eyes, giving a humourless snort of a laugh. “John Paul,” Craig appealed.

John Paul shook his head. “I get lonely and I can’t do a thing about it. So I don’t need you to sit there and remind me what I’m missing. I know. And some days I can barely stand it.”

Craig felt a pain inside him. He hated to think of John Paul suffering. He wanted to make it all better, but he knew that he couldn’t. He knew that, in reality, he had so little to offer. He’d just always hoped that it would be enough.

“I don’t want to know that you think about me like that,” John Paul continued. “It just makes me feel...” He bit down on his lip. “This is the reason that I can’t see my ex. And it’s... it’s the reason that I can’t see you.”

Craig felt his stomach roll, a shot of adrenaline flooding his bloodstream, the need to take action. How had ‘I have dreams about you’ turned into this? It was like everything was moving at a million miles an hour and he couldn’t keep up.

“John Paul,” he said desperately. He wanted to reach out again, but he didn’t dare. John Paul looked filled with sadness, regret, but he also looked determined, and that was what scared Craig more than anything. All he could remember was what Myra had said about his stubborn streak. He was going to see this through. The more Craig pleaded, the more determined Craig would become. It all just felt so hopeless.

“I can’t see you,” John Paul repeated. His voice was numb.

“I’m right here,” Craig said.

John Paul shook his head and waved a hand in front of his face, like he literally couldn’t see Craig. And then he placed his palms flat on the table and pushed himself to his feet. Craig could hear the scrape of his chair above all the noise in the visiting hall and it set his teeth on edge. He watched, helpless, as John Paul began to walk away.

“John Paul,” he called, standing up. “John Paul, _please_.”

John Paul didn’t turn around, didn’t even acknowledge that he could hear Craig’s voice. He walked up to the guard by the door at the back of the room and Craig watched as he disappeared from sight. He let out a shaky breath. He felt sick. He felt like sinking to his knees and sobbing right there. He couldn’t though. He needed to stay together. So he turned around and he walked back out the way he’d come, so many thoughts swimming around in his head that he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of a single one.

Everything seemed to go by in a daze as he walked out of the prison. It wasn’t until he was sat on the train on the way home that he really started to digest what had happened. Even then it didn’t quite make sense. He felt like he’d been dumped, but John Paul was never his in the first place. He didn’t think you could get your heartbroken twice by someone who was never even yours. At least last time he’d had some hope, some sliver of a chance. Right now, he had nothing. If John Paul kept to his word, if he shut Craig out, then Craig had absolutely nothing.

He’d lost something so much more dear to him than some romantic possibility. He’d lost his best friend. He’d lost the person who’d pushed him to become someone who was able to make friends and try new things and fall in love.

But one thing in particular kept nagging away at the back of Craig’s mind. John Paul’s ex. John Paul had told him that he’d only had one real relationship, but it didn’t make sense that the person he was talking about now was Spike. It didn’t quite add up. He and Spike had broken up a long time ago and they’d parted on good terms, been friends and helped each other pull and move on. It was possible that John Paul wouldn’t want the reminder of someone he used to be intimate with sitting across from him, but it was the way John Paul had said it. It had sounded more urgent, he’d seemed more distressed. It was like it was someone that he hadn’t quite gotten over. And that was what Craig found himself obsessing over. Maybe he wasn’t the person that John Paul wanted anyway. Maybe he didn’t have a chance. Maybe he’d just lost his best friend for nothing.

By the time he got back to the village, his head was a mess. He needed some answers. His first instinct was to go to Carmel. If there was something going on, something that he was missing, Craig felt sure that she’d know about it. He stood outside Evissa, his heart pounding and his breathing close to frantic, and he watched her through the window as she filed someone’s nails, a smile on her face as she chatted away. He couldn’t go in there and interrupt her. It wasn’t fair. He was going to have to wait until she finished work.

Dejected and agitated, he walked over to the fountain and sat down. His leg tapped nervously of its own accord. The thoughts went around and around in his head and he couldn’t stop thinking about John Paul’s words, the way he’d said them, the look on his face. This couldn’t be over, not after everything he’d fought for. They meant too much to each other, he could feel it. But he’d pushed and John Paul had pushed back. Hard. Craig couldn’t even begin to think of a way to fix this. He just wished that he could understand what he’d done so wrong.

He watched Evissa as the customers left and the sign on the door was flipped over to reveal the word ‘closed’. He waited a little longer as a couple of staff members left and then he steeled himself up, striding over towards the building. He practically crashed through the door in his haste, closing it behind himself and making Carmel jump out of her skin as she turned to face him.

“Ooh, Craig, you scared me half to death,” she said, a hand over her heart. “What are you doing?”

“Are you on your own?” Craig asked desperately.

Carmel’s hand dropped down and she seemed a little wary. “Why?”

“Are you on your own?” Craig repeated.

“Yeah,” Carmel said. Craig nodded, turning and locking the front door. He noticed that his hands were shaking. He wondered how long they’d been doing that. “Craig, what’s going on?” Carmel asked. “Can you unlock the door?”

“What?” Craig asked, turning to face her. “I need to ask you something.”

“Can you unlock the door, please,” Carmel asked again. She looked scared and it took Craig a moment to realise why. She was locked in a room with an erratic man who was demanding things of her. Sometimes he could be such an idiot.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, turning and unlocking the door again. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down a little. “Look, I just... I just want to ask you about something. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” Carmel dismissed, like she was being silly, but she still looked kind of anxious. “I just get a little... nervous sometimes.” She forced a smile, like what she’d been through didn’t warrant her being frightened. Craig wondered how she could be so strong and optimistic when he was such a mess. “I’m fine,” Carmel told him. “What did you want to ask me? How’d it go with John Paul today?”

Craig felt like he’d been punched in the gut. It was a sickening feeling. “He said he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

Carmel pulled that face then, that adorable, dumb blonde face, and Craig almost wanted to smile. “You what?”

Craig looked at her. “Who’s his ex?” Carmel just looked at him. She clearly wasn’t following this. Craig wasn’t sure he was following it himself. “He mentioned an ex,” he told her. “But I don’t think it was Spike. He said that he doesn’t let his ex see him, but it doesn’t make sense that that would be Spike. Does it?”

Carmel frowned. “I don’t think he even talks to Spike anymore.”

“So who’s the ex that he won’t let see him?” Craig asked. Carmel’s eyes flitted away, unable to keep the guilt off her features. She was so sweet and innocent and Craig hated himself for thinking up ways that he could take advantage of that fact. “Carmel, _please_.”

“It’s a secret,” she said quietly.

Craig took a step forward. “Tell me.”

“I can’t,” Carmel insisted, looking at him now with wide eyes that begged him to drop it. “I promised him. I promised that I’d never tell another soul. And I didn’t. I haven’t.”

“I need to know,” Craig implored.

“He told me the night before he went to prison,” Carmel said. “He told me all his secrets. But that was the only one he made me promise on. I can’t break that promise. I owe him everything I have, Craig, I couldn’t do that to him. You don’t know what it was like for us. We’re bonded by it. I can’t break that promise I made him.”

Craig felt like he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he’d never considered what it must have been like for Carmel that night, having to watch her brother stab someone to death. Not just someone, her own boyfriend. The man that she’d invited into her life. He’d always believed that Carmel owed John Paul a debt, but he’d never really thought how deeply it went. He couldn’t blame her for protecting him, for doing what she could to keep some small part of him safe and private, away from prying eyes. Surely he deserved that much. But Craig couldn’t risk his heart on secrets and stubborn McQueens. Not anymore.

“Carmel, I really need to know who it is,” Craig told her. Carmel looked down, her features conflicted. Craig hated doing that to her. “He won’t see me and I don’t understand and I need to understand. It’s something to do with this ex.”

Carmel kept her mouth closed and her eyes down. Craig couldn’t deal with this. He felt like tearing his hair out, banging his head against the wall, ripping at his flesh. He couldn’t lose John Paul like this. It hurt to think of not having him in his life. It would all just be a pointless void, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not without trying absolutely everything he could to save it.

“I love him,” Craig said. Carmel looked up at that, an expression of surprise and maybe an irresistible belief in romance written across her features. “I’m in love with him,” Craig continued. “And he’s told me that he can’t see me for the same reason that he can’t see his ex. I don’t even know what that means. But I need to know what I’m up against here. I need to know who it is that he’s lumping me together with.”

Carmel shook her head. “You’re not up against anything, Craig,” she told him. “They’re over.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him,” Craig said. “Please help me.”

Carmel looked down again, her lips pursed together as she thought about Craig’s words. Craig waited. He could see everything written over her face, the sadness and the remorse and the uncertainty and the weight of the secret that she’d been carrying around for over a year now. She finally met his eyes again.

“Do you really love John Paul?” she asked.

“Really,” Craig insisted. “He’s all I think about. He’s all I want. He’s everything.”

Carmel nodded slowly, looking thoughtful again. “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone,” she said very seriously. “Not another soul.”

Craig felt a spark of hope. He could have hugged her in that moment. “Alright.”

“ _Promise_ ,” Carmel insisted.

“I promise,” Craig agreed. “I won’t tell another soul.”

“And you didn’t hear it from me,” Carmel said. “If you go to John Paul with this, I wasn’t the one who told you.”

“Okay,” Craig replied, impatience making his heart beat faster again.

Carmel licked her lips. Her gaze fell down and she looked troubled. She’d once told Craig that she was the keeper of John Paul’s secrets and Craig could see now how much that title meant to her, how seriously she took her role. This wasn’t easy for her. She was giving up the thing that had kept her feeling close to John Paul, kept her feeling useful. Craig hoped that she’d get over this.

“His name’s Kieron,” she finally said, her eyes meeting Craig’s. “ _Father_ Kieron.” Craig stared at her. It was one more thing that he couldn’t process. “He’s a priest,” Carmel added.

“A priest?” Craig repeated blankly. He felt like his head was spinning. Nothing seemed real anymore.

“Yeah,” Carmel said. “He works at the church that me and my mum go to, St. Charles. He needed somewhere to stay and mum offered up our place and him and John Paul got dead close. It’s just something that happened. Please don’t judge him.”

Craig closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A priest? He just couldn’t comprehend how someone could possibly get into a relationship with a priest. He wasn’t brought up with religion, they weren’t a church going family like John Paul’s apparently were, but he thought he had a pretty good idea of how it worked. Priests were supposed to be married to the church, weren’t they? They certainly weren’t supposed to go around shagging blokes. The thought of it made Craig sting. Shagging. Intimacy. The one thing that he couldn’t have with John Paul. The one thing that priests weren’t supposed to have either. Yet Father Kieron had shagged John Paul. How was that fair? It all seemed so unjustly backwards.

Craig felt the tears brimming at the thought. Where had it all gone so wrong? Why was he the one left out in the cold? He opened his eyes and forced himself to breathe, staring down at the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to even begin to think about how John Paul might have gotten involved in all this. He hated the thought of him doing something so... morally distasteful. He wanted to think more of him.

“Craig,” Carmel said gently. “You can’t say anything.”

Craig didn’t reply. He was barely even listening. How come this man of God could have John Paul and he couldn’t?

“You promised,” Carmel said desperately, clearly taking his silence as a bad sign. He looked up at her.

“Yeah,” he agreed vaguely. “Yeah, I know.” She stared at him. She didn’t seem convinced. “I have to go,” Craig told her.

He turned around and headed out of the door before she could say anything else. It was a warm evening and the air outside didn’t seem refreshing enough to him. He felt sticky. It was that oppressive kind of weather, like a storm was coming, but the sky was clear. Craig could see the tiny pinpricks of the stars shining above him. That meant the dense atmosphere that he could feel against his skin as he walked was nothing more than his imagination. By the time he reached St. Charles he felt absolutely wretched.

He knew that this wasn’t a good idea. He knew that he should probably calm down, take some time to process things, but everything that had happened today had only left him with more questions. And he needed to know. He needed to meet Father Kieron, see him with his own eyes, and hope that he could make something slot into place. Right now, nothing made any sense at all.

He pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside. He’d barely been in a church his whole life, only for a couple of weddings. It felt strange. It was quiet inside, silent, as he stepped into the main part of the church. There wasn’t much light, candles burning around the place. Craig didn’t believe in God, but the building seemed to demand respect and humility. It made him feel kind of small and petty.

A man walked out of a side door and across the front of the altar, stepping down and straightening out some hymn books on the front row of pews. Craig froze, tensing up as he watched him. He looked tired. He looked human. Craig didn’t know what he was expecting, but he found the normality of the man off-putting. He wanted someone more graceful and regal and grand. This man lumbered slightly as he moved and his thoughts didn’t seem entirely on what he was doing. But he had the outfit on, white dog collar shining in the candlelight, and that was enough to turn Craig’s stomach. He clung to that feeling, used it to spur him into action, into confrontation.

He walked down the centre aisle and his footsteps were too loud, echoing around the large room. It made Craig want to shy away. The man turned, looking up at Craig and giving him a kind smile and a nod, letting him know that he was welcome here. Something about that easy acceptance really wound Craig up.

“Are you Father Kieron?”

“Yes,” the man replied, placing down the hymn books he’d been holding. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m a friend of John Paul’s,” Craig told him.

He saw Kieron’s face falter slightly, and somehow that was enough to tell him it was all true. Kieron recovered himself quickly, giving Craig an affable smile.

“Well, any friend of John Paul’s is a friend of mine.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Craig said, the bitterness in his voice surprising even himself. The smile fell from Kieron’s face, replaced with confusion. “Carmel told me about the two of you,” Craig said.

All pretence seemed to be dropped then. Kieron looked around urgently, checking for witnesses, and then he turned back to Craig, his face anxious and imploring. “I really don’t think this is the place to be having this discussion.”

“And where would be a good place to have a discussion about the fact that you shag schoolboys?” Craig asked.

Kieron went pale. “Schoolboy,” he corrected. “Not plural. Just one. Just John Paul. And he was over eighteen the whole time...”

“And that makes it alright?” Craig demanded.

“No,” Kieron said gravely.

“You’re a priest,” Craig stated incredulously.

“Yes,” Kieron agreed.

Craig gave an ironic laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation. Kieron wasn’t even trying to deny it, to justify it. It all seemed like some kind of joke that really wasn’t funny. Kieron sunk down onto the pew like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. He was staring at the floor, taking steady, measured breaths. He finally looked up at Craig.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

“I came straight here after Carmel told me,” Craig replied. Kieron nodded, looking down again. “Is that all you’re bothered about?” Craig asked.

“If this got out, it would cause a lot of trouble for both of us,” Kieron told him. “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“Both of you?” Craig repeated. “It’d cause a lot of trouble for you,” he agreed. “John Paul hasn’t really got a lot left to lose, has he?”

Kieron looked up at him again, seeming hurt by his comment. “If you really believe that, then you’re not a very good friend.”

The words stung Craig, mostly because they were true. He was always the one telling John Paul he had so much left to fight for, and now here he was, dismissing him so easily. He was just being irrational, he told himself, everything was getting to him. The thought of John Paul writing himself off made Craig angry. He hated himself for doing the same thing.

He sat down heavily on the pew beside Kieron. “I can’t be a very good friend because he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Why not?” Kieron asked. He had a soothing quality to his voice, something that was undoubtedly well practiced to comfort.

“Because I told him...” Craig stopped short. He couldn’t tell a priest what he’d told John Paul, not even this priest. He sighed in frustration. “It’s his fault anyway. He was the one that started the flirting, not me. And then he suddenly turns around and...” He shook his head. He still didn’t know what had happened. How was he supposed to know where the line was if John Paul had never told him, if he’d constantly refused to define it?

Kieron turned slowly to look at him, surprise written over his face. “You and John Paul are...?”

“No,” Craig told him. “We’re really not. John Paul made that blatantly clear.”

“It’s hard for him,” Kieron said.

“I know,” Craig agreed. “I know it’s hard for him. It’s hard for me too.”

Craig looked up at the tea lights in front of the alter. He knew that each of them represented a prayer that some parishioner had made earlier in the day, all of them burning brightly now and lighting up the dark. Hope. He wondered what they’d prayed for. He wondered if they’d get it. He wondered if John Paul was the kind of person who believed in wishes flickering in the flame of a candle. He was the one who believed in hope after all.

“How did it happen?” he asked, still staring at the tea lights. “How does something like that happen?”

Kieron was silent beside him. He remained perfectly still. If John Paul had taught Craig anything, it was the patience to wait. Finally, Kieron began to speak.

“He was going through a hard time,” he said. “Everything with Carmel and Jimmy, he couldn’t stand watching her with someone he knew wasn’t treating her right. This was in the early days, before we knew for certain what he was like. And there were other things going on as well, Jacqui in and out of prison, Michaela getting involved with drugs. No one had much time for him. And we were mates. We spent a lot of time together. And we were both lonely, both going through rough spots. It all just evolved into something else.”

Craig felt a twist in his gut. Kieron could almost have been describing how he and John Paul ended up falling for each other – both of them lonely, both of them going through a hard time. It put a doubt in his mind. Did John Paul simply cling to whoever was there when things got rough, when he was on his own? Would he take the first person that showed the slightest bit of interest? Did this mean half as much to John Paul as it did to him?

But John Paul wasn’t clinging to him, Craig reminded himself, he was pushing him away. It would be easy to use Craig if he wanted to, Craig wasn’t exactly making him fight for it, but he was denying him at every turn. That gave Craig some hope that this was real, that this wasn’t just the way John Paul reacted to stressful situations. He didn’t want to be the person John Paul fell for just for the sake of falling for someone. He didn’t think he could take it.

“You have vows,” he said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to break them because you’re lonely.”

“I’m human,” Kieron said blankly. “I feel the same as you do on the inside, I crave the same things as everyone else. I’m just not allowed to act like it.”

“If you wanted to act like it, maybe you shouldn’t have become a priest,” Craig told him.

“I love my faith,” Kieron said. “I don’t know what I’d be without it.”

“Maybe it’d be better than the hypocrite you are with it,” Craig told him, getting to his feet. He couldn’t listen to this. He wasn’t going to waste his sympathy on this man, this man who, if he was honest, he was jealous of. He’d had the one thing that Craig wanted more than anything else in the world, and he should never have even been allowed it in the first place. It was more than he could stomach right now.

“It’s hard for all of us,” Kieron called after him as he walked down the aisle. Craig turned to see Kieron on his feet. “All the people he left behind.”

“He didn’t leave me behind,” Craig said. “I wasn’t there. So I guess I don’t fit into your cosy little group of liars and cheats, do I?”

He turned his back and walked out of the church, forcing himself not to stop, forcing himself not to cry.


	19. Chapter 19

Craig sat opposite Carmel at the nail bar, his chin rested on his folded arms. He wasn’t actively thinking about John Paul, but he was there in his thoughts anyway, like something that he could always see out of the corner of his eye, something that he couldn’t blink away.

He hadn’t heard a word from him in two weeks now. He’d written to him a few times, whenever he felt like he had something to say. A couple of times he’d written about missing him, a couple of times he’d written about how sad it made him feel that they’d fallen out and a couple of times he’d gotten angry and let John Paul know how unfair he was being. There was one thing that he hadn’t done though. He hadn’t pleaded. He hadn’t ever asked John Paul to write back. He’d wished for it, but he’d never asked. He was waiting for the day when John Paul would do it on his own.

“Do you want me to do your cuticles for you while you’re there?” Carmel offered.

Craig blinked, bringing her into focus. “I’m not _that_ gay.”

“I’ll get into trouble if you’re just sat there,” Carmel said. She looked down at his hands. “And they could really do with it.”

Craig gave her a look. “No, thanks.”

“A lot of men look after themselves nowadays,” Carmel told him. “It’s not just for the gays anymore, y’know.” Craig couldn’t help but smile. She was being so adorably earnest. “And you look like you could do with somethin’ to cheer you up,” she added.

Craig sat up, stretching his arms out in front of him. “Don’t think a manicure would do it, thanks.”

“How about you come for tea then?” Carmel suggested. “My mum’s doin’ her sausage casserole.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Craig dismissed. “I don’t think they want me hanging around. John Paul’s _ex_ -friend.”

“I’ve told you, pay no attention to him,” Carmel said. “I bet he’s missin’ you like mad. He’s gonna write you back.”

“Yeah, he misses me so much that he never even asks about me,” Craig muttered, resting his chin defeatedly back down on the table.

“He’s a lad,” Carmel said. “He doesn’t talk about feelings. Not even to me. Not even that night.” Craig knew exactly what she was talking about. The night John Paul told her everything. “Give him some time,” Carmel went on. “You must think he’ll come round if you’re still writing to him.”

“I write to him more out of habit than anything,” Craig admitted. “Who else am I gonna talk to?”

“You can talk to me,” Carmel told him. Craig smiled gratefully. It wasn’t quite the same though. “Listen, come for tea,” Carmel insisted. “I know my mum would love to see you. She thinks you’re dead nice. And she likes taking care of people.”

Craig thought that her words should sound condescending, but he actually kind of liked the idea of someone taking care of him. It was maybe just what he needed. It was childish, but he’d kind of been craving a hug from his mum lately. He wouldn’t dare go ask for one though. She’d only act suspicious and end up making him feel worse.

“You sure I won’t be in the way?” he asked.

“Don’t be daft,” Carmel dismissed. “And my mum always makes loads so there’ll be plenty to go around.”

Craig smiled at her. Maybe a family meal was just what he needed, even if it wasn’t his family.

When Carmel’s shift finished, Craig tagged along with her as she headed home. He wondered if this was the most intelligent thing in the world to be doing, spending time with John Paul’s family, getting closer to them, when John Paul himself was slipping away. He should probably cut all ties, work at moving on. He had no doubts that it would be the smart thing to do. He knew with just as much certainty though that he wouldn’t. If there was a switch he could flick, he thought he might flick it, but even if his feelings turned off, he knew that nothing would be the same again. For all of the heartache, John Paul had still changed him into a better person, and Craig wanted to keep on changing. He wanted to be the person that he could feel himself becoming. He wasn’t sure if he could do that without John Paul.

He’d written a whole letter about what that meant, James Joyce stream of consciousness ramblings on whether John Paul was his catalyst or his muse, whether he was doing it for John Paul or for himself. He never really came to any conclusions except for one – you should always make the most of what you have because nothing ever seemed to last for long. He tried to carry that thought with him, hoping it would spur him on to seize the moment and try new things like John Paul had inspired him to do, but mostly it just made him melancholy over what he’d lost. More than any of the other letters, Craig wondered what John Paul’s response would be to that one. He wondered what role John Paul thought he’d played in Craig’s life.

“Look who I found!” Carmel announced loudly as she let them both into the house.

“You bringin’ strays home again, Carm?” Jacqui asked critically, looking Craig up and down.

“Don’t start,” Carmel told her in an urgent, hushed tone.

“Oh, hiya, love,” Myra greeted, coming through from the kitchen and smiling widely at him. “It’s nice to see you. How’ve you been? Are you stayin’ for tea?”

“Erm, that... that was the plan,” Craig replied, feeling kind of out of place now that he was here, especially with the way Jacqui was glaring at him. “Carmel said you wouldn’t mind. But if it’s a problem...”

“Course not, you’re more than welcome here anytime, I’ve told ya that,” Myra insisted.

“Oh, yeah, we just love the people that John Paul hates,” Jacqui said dramatically. “Why are we even entertainin’ him, mum?”

Her words stung Craig. He couldn’t stand the thought of being hated by John Paul. He could take John Paul’s anger, his hurt, his sadness, his confusion, but not his hatred. If John Paul could hate him then this didn’t mean nearly as much to him as it did to Craig. The thought made Craig feel tiny.

“Shut it you,” Myra told Jacqui. She turned to Craig with a smile. “You haven’t met our Tina yet, have you?” she asked.

“Erm, no,” Craig replied.

“Through ‘ere,” Myra said, ushering him through to the kitchen. Standing at the worktop was a dowdy girl who seemed as out of place as Craig felt. She looked more like a librarian than a McQueen. “Here she is. Tina, this is Craig,” Myra said.

“Oh, hi,” Tina smiled, putting down her potato peeler and pushing her glasses further up on her nose before offering out her hand to him. “It’s really nice to meet you finally. Everyone here speaks very highly of you.”

“Not everyone,” Jacqui called.

“If you don’t cut it out you’ll be eatin’ yours in the garden,” Myra told her.

Craig shook Tina’s hand, giving her a smile, but then his attention was diverted as he saw another person in the kitchen. Sitting at the counter with a cup of tea in front of him was Father Kieron. Craig was sure his face must have dropped. Kieron didn’t look very happy either. The two of them stared at each other as Craig let Tina’s hand drop away. He didn’t know how Kieron had the nerve to come anywhere near this family, let alone into this house. It was sick.

“And this is Father Kieron,” Myra said. “Like a part of the family, he is. Or a part of the furniture. Isn’t that right, Father?”

“Something like that,” Kieron agreed, giving her a strained smile.

“We’ve met,” Craig said tightly.

“Oh, have you?” Myra asked, seeming excited. “Do you go to church, Craig?”

“No,” Craig replied.

“Oh, well, Father Kieron’s a good friend of our John Paul’s,” Myra continued.

“I bet he is,” Craig muttered. Kieron gave him an imploring look, silently begging him to shut his mouth. He had some nerve.

“You what?” Myra asked. Craig shook his head as if to dismiss her.

“Anyway, I was thinking, Myra, I should probably head off,” Kieron said.

“I thought you were stayin’ for tea,” Myra said.

“I know, but I’ve got some parish business that really needs my attention,” Kieron said. “I’ve been putting it off. And you look like you’ve got your hands full now anyway.”

“Don’t be daft,” Myra told him. “The more the merrier, that’s what I always say. Speakin’ of which, where’s Michaela?” Myra asked, turning to Tina. “I thought she was meant to be helpin’ you.”

“I think she’s in her room,” Tina replied.

Myra rolled her eyes with a sigh of exasperation, heading over to the bottom of the stairs. Craig and Kieron stared at each other. The more the merrier. Craig wanted to laugh but he felt certain it would get stuck in his throat. Carmel came over to them.

“I didn’t know,” she said quietly to Craig, looking between the two of them. Kieron gave her a nod and a kind, reassuring smile. Craig found himself struck with the urge to punch him. How could he be so together after what he’d done?

“Michaela!” Myra yelled up the stairs. “Get your backside down here now.”

“I’m busy!” Michaela shouted back.

“Doin’ what?”

“Homework.”

“Chance’d be a fine thing,” Myra scoffed. “Down ‘ere now.”

“Craig, is this gonna be alright?” Carmel asked him quietly. “I mean, can you...?”

“What’re you whisperin’ about, blondie?” Jacqui asked, looking at them all suspiciously.

“I don’t know how you can bear to be around him,” Craig said to Carmel, giving Kieron a dirty look before turning away.

He walked out of the kitchen at the same moment that Michaela stomped her way down the stairs. A slow smile spread over her face as she saw him, like this was going to be a lot of fun.

“Aww, look, it’s the prison groupie,” she said. “Tell me, what is it you do with yourself all day now you’ve got no inmates to stalk?”

“Yeah, we all speak dead highly of Craig in this house, don’t we, Tine,” Jacqui said, smirking to herself.

“The pair of you can knock it off right now,” Myra told them before turning her attention to Craig. “Pay them no mind, love. They’re only teasin’.”

Craig knew that they weren’t. At least, he knew that Jacqui wasn’t. She was doing nothing to hide her distrust of him. Michaela, on the other hand, he’d seen a different side of her when they’d visited John Paul together. She might act tough, and he was certain that she thought he was a sad loser, but underneath all that she was actually kind of sweet. Almost.

Still, Jacqui’s obvious dislike of him and Michaela’s unerring ability to wind him up wasn’t the reason that he felt so uncomfortable and out of place right now. He could put up with the looks Jacqui was giving him, put up with Michaela pushing his buttons, but he couldn’t put up with Kieron sitting there, acting all high and mighty and being respected by Myra. It was a joke. She deserved better than to be laughed at behind her back. He couldn’t watch that. He couldn’t stomach it.

It was unfair because he wanted to be here. He liked being here. He felt like he was closer to John Paul in this place, the place where he’d grown up, with the people that cared about him, the people he cared about. He couldn’t have John Paul right now, but he thought he could have this, some tiny part of his past, of the person he was before he gave up. Craig wished he’d known that person. He’d felt like he was learning about him, from Hannah, from the McQueens. Now it was as if Kieron had snatched him away.

He looked to his side and he saw that framed exam certificate, John Paul’s only A-Level. An A in sociology. It made Craig smile, made him proud, but it was so sad seeing it there amongst the family photos, a reminder of all that potential cut short.

“Anyway, girly, you’re supposed to be helpin’ Tina with the tea,” Myra told Michaela. “Hop to it.”

“Here, Craig, do you want the tour?” Michaela offered, obviously trying to get out of helping.

“Tour?” Myra scoffed. “It’s a council house, Michaela, not a stately home.”

“Just thought he might want to see our John Paul’s old room,” Michaela said.

Craig turned away from the photos to look at her. He could tell by her tone of voice that she was baiting him, trying to reel him in, but the thought of seeing something of John Paul’s was too much to resist.

“Yeah, alright,” he said.

“John Paul’s old room?” Myra asked. “You mean your room? Oh no, you’re not havin’ boys up there, I know what you’re like.”

“Stop treatin’ me like a kid,” Michaela complained. “And it’s Craig. I think we all know he’s more interested in feelin’ our John Paul up than me.”

Myra looked over at Craig, as though considering him, and then turned back to Michaela. “Fine,” she conceded. “But if you’re not helpin’ make tea then you ‘ave to do the washin’ up.”

Michaela rolled her eyes. “Come on, prison groupie,” she said, traipsing back up the stairs. Craig followed after her.

“I haven’t done much to it,” she said as she opened the door. “Most of it’s his stuff still. The posters and things. Didn’t feel right to change it.”

Craig looked around as he stepped inside. It did have quite a boyish style to it. There were some vinyl records stuck to the wall, an obvious statement of John Paul’s love for music, and the wall behind the bed seemed to be treated like some kind of open scrapbook. There was a Mighty Reds banner, as well as various posters of the players pulled out from magazines, there was a large Brokeback Mountain poster, which seemed to Craig almost clichéd, and then there were various flyers for club nights and DJs and a collection of photographs of John Paul with his mates.

Michaela’s influence was obvious in the room too though, in the clothes that were strewn around and the pink, girly things that adorned the place and the makeup and perfumes and jewellery that littered most surfaces.

“It’s one of the reasons I wanted his room,” Michaela explained, sitting down on the bed. “Apart from havin’ my own space for the first time in me life. I wanted to keep all his stuff safe for him. Keep it the same. He’ll be comin’ back one day. I know he’ll be old and all that, but I just reckon he’d appreciate it.”

Craig smiled. “That’s really sweet.”

Michaela shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Had to move some of his stuff to fit mine in,” she said. “Cleared out his wardrobe and stuff. Packed it all up for him and put it in the loft. Found some dirty magazines under his bed. I put ‘em back again though. He’d die if he knew I’d touched ‘em. ‘Ere, do you wanna borrow ‘em?”

Craig looked at her. “Don’t think they’d really be my thing, thanks.”

“If you’re droolin’ over John Paul these’ll definitely be your thing,” Michaela told him with a slight leer in her voice.

Craig looked away, checking out the room some more. He knew that she was just trying to get a rise out of him. The truth was, he didn’t really know how to feel about things like that. Blokes didn’t do it for him. There was nothing about men that he found attractive in general. It was just John Paul. And the whole thing might have been interesting him a lot more lately, because his thoughts on John Paul had started to go in that direction and Craig was so new to all of this that he wasn’t sure how it really worked, but that didn’t mean he wanted dirty magazines on the subject.

He’d tried to switch those thoughts off completely now though, as innocent and meaningful as they were. After the way John Paul had reacted to his dreams, Craig figured he definitely didn’t have the right to think about John Paul in any kind of sexual way. John Paul was a long way from giving his blessing on that.

Behind the door were John Paul’s decks, set up, Craig assumed, where he’d left them. He didn’t see Michaela having the technical know how to do anything with them. He guessed that the messy, unordered way the records were stacked under and on the desk was down to her though. Myra had described them as his pride and joy and so Craig bet he took better care of them than that.

He imagined John Paul in this room, imagined him tinkering on those decks or doing homework at his desk or sticking up those photos or sleeping in that bed. The images made him smile. So normal and everyday. All the simple things that he was missing out on.

He walked over to the photos that adorned the wall, looking at the moments John Paul had chosen to cherish. There were pictures of him with Hannah and a couple of them both with Sarah. There were a few family photos, including an adorable one of him and Michaela where he had his arm around her and she was pulling a face. Then there were some that looked a little older, photos of John Paul and some footie mates. From what John Paul had told him, Craig figured they were from before he came out. He felt sad that John Paul had lost his mates over something so stupid. It felt like almost the same reason that Craig had lost his best mate now. He wondered why John Paul had kept those photos up, photos of people who couldn’t stand him because of who he fancied.

“You’re a right stalker, you are,” Michaela said, looking at him critically.

“Yeah, I know,” Craig agreed.

He looked at a picture of John Paul smiling widely, his arms around Hannah. He’d never seen that smile on any of his visits. It was so youthful and carefree. Another thing that Craig had missed out on.

It felt strange, being in this room. He felt like he was seeing another side to John Paul, almost getting to know him better. He felt close to him but, at the same time, he missed him more. He felt like John Paul should be here. It felt wrong being in that room without him. It felt like he was intruding.

“Little Miss Perfect,” Michaela said, looking at the picture of John Paul and Hannah. “Never stood a chance.” She looked up at Craig. “You must’ve done summat really bad for him to shut you out like that.”

Craig sighed. “Suppose I must.” He still wasn’t entirely sure what that something really bad was. He still wasn’t entirely sure where Kieron fit into the whole mess.

Michaela, to his surprise, dropped it. “I miss him,” she said instead. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t tell anyone that. We don’t talk about missing him. It’s like it’s taboo or summat. And my mates wouldn’t get it. Amy’s psycho mum’s run off and Sasha’s mum’s dead and they’d think that they got it, but they wouldn’t. It’s not the same. Because he’s right there. I can see him and I can speak to him. But I miss him. Because he’s not here to nick cds off or shout at me when I spend too long in the bathroom or give me that special big brother hug when some bloke breaks up with me or whatever. It’s harder because he’s not just gone. It like the wound gets opened again whenever I speak to him. That sounds awful, but it’s true. It never heals.”

Craig sat down on the bed beside her. He wondered if he was supposed to be healing now that he had no contact with John Paul. He still felt as raw as the day John Paul had walked away from him in that visiting room though. But as long as he was still writing those letters, as long as John Paul was still in his thoughts, he didn’t suppose he’d ever have a chance to get over him. Closure was such an important thing and Craig didn’t have any of it. He didn’t think he wanted it.

“And if you tell anyone I said ought that sappy I’ll kick ya head in,” Michaela told him.

Craig smiled at her. “Fair enough.”

They stayed upstairs until tea was ready, Michaela playing Craig some of John Paul’s favourite tunes on the decks. Myra had said Michaela didn’t know what she was doing with them, but Craig had to disagree. She seemed pretty confident handling the records and setting them playing. Craig wondered if John Paul had taught her how to do it or whether it was something she’d picked up from watching him.

When they got downstairs, Myra was playing hostess, showing Craig to his seat and fussing over him as she got him a drink and plated up his food for him. She was giving exactly the same treatment to Kieron, and Craig could feel himself getting wound up again. Kieron didn’t deserve her respect. He shouldn’t even be here.

As they all sat down to eat, Michaela picked up her knife and fork, ready to tuck in, only to be elbowed in the side by Myra.

“Oi, grace first,” Myra said.

Michaela rolled her eyes dramatically, putting her knife and fork down. “You only ever say grace when he’s here,” she complained, scowling in Kieron’s direction. Craig couldn’t help but smile.

“Ignore her Father,” Myra said sweetly. “Would you like to do the honours?”

“Okay,” Kieron agreed somewhat reluctantly. Everyone clasped their hands together. Craig bowed his head down slightly out of respect. “For what we are about to receive, may the lord make us truly grateful, and give us mercy and love in our hearts for others. Amen.”

“Amen,” Myra echoed.

“Can we eat now?” Michaela asked impatiently.

“Yes,” Myra said with barely veiled irritation. “And don’t forgot you’re doin’ the washin’ up when we’re done here.”

“Whatever,” Michaela muttered.

“Mmm, this is very tasty, Myra,” Kieron said through a mouthful of food. Craig glared at him. The stupid suck up. It did taste nice, but Craig couldn’t say anything now without sounding like he was just copying Kieron.

“Oh, thank you,” Myra said graciously. “Personally, I always think food tastes a lot better after it’s had the Lord’s blessing. Don’t you think, Father?”

Kieron nodded his agreement as he took another mouthful, but he was smirking slightly, looking amused. He was laughing at her. Myra was literally putting all of her faith in Kieron and he repaid her with lies and secrets and a complete lack of respect. She was such a caring, giving woman and Craig couldn’t stand to see her treated like this.

“You’re a disgrace to the church,” he said, looking right at Kieron who froze, meeting his eyes. He swallowed stiffly and then glanced around the table.

“Craig,” Carmel said, her tone full of warning and worry.

“What’s going on?” Myra asked, looking around.

“Craig doesn’t go to church,” Carmel explained. “He’s one of those anarchists.”

“I think you mean atheists, Carm,” Jacqui said.

“And we can discuss it another time, yeah, mate?” Kieron suggested.

Craig clenched his teeth. He was seething. “How can you live with yourself?”

“What’s the matter?” Myra asked. “Will someone tell me what’s going on please.”

“Do you even believe in God?” Craig asked. “I mean, does it mean anything to you?”

“It means everything to me,” Kieron insisted. There was an intensity in the way he said it, but Craig couldn’t quite believe him. It all just seemed like it was for appearances with him.

“Then what did John Paul mean to you?” he challenged.

“John Paul?” Myra asked, looking between them. “Father Kieron doesn’t judge John Paul if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

“He’s got no right to judge anyone,” Craig spat out.

“Craig, please don’t do this,” Kieron pleaded. “We can talk it out later.”

Craig shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to you. Ever.”

“Let’s just get on with tea, then, yeah?” Carmel suggested, doing her best to sound cheery.

“What’s your problem with Father Kieron?” Myra asked him. “He’s done an awful lot for this family, you know. He’s helped me through some really rough times. And he was always there for John Paul. Still writes to him, don’t you, Father?” Kieron gave a noncommittal shrug, clearly trying to divert attention away from himself.

“There for John Paul?” Craig repeated bitterly. “He was shagging him.”

Everyone was silent. Everyone except for Michaela who snorted an incredulous laugh. Kieron looked ill. He placed his fork down on his plate. Myra stared at Craig, disbelieving, and then she finally turned to Kieron.

“Is that true?” she asked, her voice quiet and shaky.

“Myra...” Kieron began, shaking his head and begging her not to ask.

“Is it true?” Myra demanded.

Kieron looked down, tears filling his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Something pulled unpleasantly inside Craig. Guilt. He wasn’t sure if it was for betraying Carmel, for giving away John Paul’s secrets so easily, or for destroying Myra’s last vestiges of hope. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe he might feel bad for Kieron’s sake.

“All this time?” Myra asked. “I took you in. I forced John Paul to be nice to you. I trusted you with my secrets. I let you comfort me after he went away. And all this time you were carryin’ on with him behind my back?” She turned her lip up in disgust. “Did the two of you have a good laugh at me?”

“Myra, no, it wasn’t like that,” Kieron insisted.

“Gettin’ your dirty little kicks from my son?” Myra asked.

“Mum, it wasn’t like that,” Carmel said desperately.

Myra turned to face her, disbelief and betrayal written over her features. “You knew about this?”

Carmel looked down. “I... I...”

“How long ‘ave you known?” Myra asked.

“Well...” Carmel began.

“How long?” Myra demanded. Carmel’s face crumpled with guilt. It was all the answer Myra needed. She turned her attention back to Kieron. “Right, you, I want you out of my house, now.”

“Myra, please,” Kieron implored.

“You’re not welcome here anymore,” Myra told him. “I can’t even bear to look at you. You’re disgusting.”

Kieron took a shaky breath, clearly trying to hold himself together. Craig could practically see him breaking before his eyes. It was like everything he was had been shattered and stolen from him. He got numbly to his feet. Myra didn’t even acknowledge him as he looked around the table. Resigned and broken, he headed for the door.

“I think you’d better leave too,” Myra said to Craig.

He turned to face her. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I know it wasn’t my place. I just couldn’t stand it. I made it all worse again, didn’t I?”

“He’s in the wrong, not you,” Myra said. “But I still think you should leave. For now.”

Craig nodded his agreement. As he got to his feet, Carmel caught his eye. She looked hurt.

“You promised,” she said. “You made a promise.”

“You shouldn’t put your burdens on other people like that,” Myra told her.

“I’m sorry,” Craig said again, to no one in particular. And then he didn’t know what else to do so he simply walked away.

“You have got a lot of explain’ to do, young lady,” Myra said to Carmel.

“Father Kieron?” Michaela asked. “I’m startin’ to think our John Paul was well kinky.”

“Shut it, you,” Myra told her.

Craig closed the door behind himself.

*

Craig didn’t talk to any of the McQueens over the next week and he felt even more lonely than ever. He hated what he’d done to them. All he’d wanted to do since he’d read that first article in the newspaper about John Paul, heard that first bit of gossip, was help. He’d wanted to make things better. Looking at the mess that everything was in now, he couldn’t help but think that all he’d done was make everything worse. His affections for John Paul seemed constantly out of place and only seemed to make things more difficult for him. And now he’d destroyed all the lifelines that his family had too. Maybe John Paul would have been better off without him all along. Maybe Craig wasn’t meant to save him after all.

He walked past Il Gnosh on his way back to the flat and noticed Tom sitting by the window at a table by himself. He walked inside, looking around as he approached the table.

“You alright, mate?” he asked.

Tom looked up from drinking his orange juice through a straw. “Tony’s getting me some cake.”

“Where’s Steph?” Craig asked.

“She’s gone with Niall,” Tom said, slurping up some more of his juice.

“Gone where?” Craig asked. Tom shrugged. Craig blinked incredulously. He couldn’t believe this. “Has she just left you here?”

“I’m with Tony,” Tom said. “He’s getting me some cake.”

“But Tony’s working,” Craig stated. He looked around in exasperation. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

He practically knocked Tony and his cake over as he headed out of the restaurant, not stopping until he reached Niall’s front door. He knocked hard, not letting up until the door flung open. Instead of finding Niall though, or even Steph, he found himself face to face with Kieron. His insides gave an unpleasant little jolt. He stood there, his feet rooted to the spot, staring at Kieron. He was wearing normal clothes, not his priest outfit, and somehow he looked softer for it. He also looked tired. Really tired.

Kieron frowned upon seeing Craig and then he sighed. “Did you think up some way that you could make my life worse?” he asked dryly. “Because I really think you hit the jackpot the other day.”

“I’m looking for my sister,” Craig said blankly. “Do you live here?”

“Yeah,” Kieron said, seeming to lose his footing slightly. Craig started to put the dots together, understanding now Niall’s comment about John Paul spending so much time there. He wondered just how much Niall knew. “Is Steph your sister?” Kieron asked. Craig nodded. “I like her better than you.”

“Yeah, most people do,” Craig agreed.

Kieron smiled slightly, like he was maybe warming to Craig. “She’s not here. They went out. Somewhere in town. I don’t think they were going to be long.”

Craig nodded. “Okay, thanks.” Kieron gave a nod and started to close the door. “Did...” Craig began. Kieron stopped, looking at him. Craig rubbed at the back of his neck. “Did, erm, did Myra say anything?”

Kieron looked down. “I haven’t exactly spoken to her since I was humiliated and thrown out of her house, but I don’t think so. I think the Bishop would have said something to me by now if she had.”

“Right,” Craig agreed. He didn’t really know how these things worked. “Can I come in?” he asked.

Kieron looked up at him, surprised. He opened his mouth and closed it again before starting to speak. “I don’t really think we’ve got a lot else to say to each other, Craig.”

“Please?” Craig asked.

Something in his voice must have spoken to Kieron’s priestly duties to help and do good because he opened the door wider with a sigh, allowing Craig inside. Craig looked around. It was just as tidy as John Paul had said it was. He spotted the Xbox 360 and couldn’t help smiling to himself a little.

“Do you want a drink?” Kieron offered.

“No, thanks,” Craig replied with a short shake of his head.

He sat down on one of the sofas. Kieron sat opposite him. They remained in silence for what seemed like a long time. Craig looked at Kieron, the way he sat on the edge of the seat, leaning forward, as if ready to help. His head was bowed and his hands were clasped, something that looked serious and pious. Craig wondered if any of it came naturally or if it was something he’d had to learn.

“You write to him?” he finally asked. Kieron looked up. He nodded. “Has he ever mentioned me?” Kieron shook his head. Craig sighed. He looked down. “I didn’t mean to ruin everybody’s lives,” he said.

Kieron licked his lips, seeming to choose his words carefully. “He seemed happier,” he said. “John Paul. He didn’t mention you, but he was happier. I can’t think what else that would be down to. So you didn’t ruin his life.”

“He won’t talk to me,” Craig said. “He won’t see me.”

“He won’t see me either,” Kieron replied. “It’s been over a year. We write, but he won’t let me visit.”

Craig nodded. He didn’t really want to think about that. It brought back all the inferiority that came with knowing he was somehow being compared to Kieron. “When did the two of you break up?” he asked. “How long before...”

Kieron looked at him. He hesitated just long enough to make Craig worry. “It didn’t really work like that.”

“Like what?” Craig asked warily. Kieron looked down. “What? You never broke up?”

“We’re not still together,” Kieron said. “I didn’t see him after what happened with Jimmy, so we never talked about it. It was just a given. He was going to jail. Of course we had to end it.”

“Hang on a minute,” Craig said, shaking his head. “You only broke up because he was going to prison? You mean, if he never went to prison, you two would still be together?”

“I can’t really answer that,” Kieron replied.

Craig put his head in his hands. Every time he thought he’d hit rock bottom, something else came along to make everything even more complicated and miserable than before. “But you didn’t split up,” he said hopelessly. “You didn’t want to split up.”

Kieron didn’t say anything. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them, heavy and unbearable. Craig got to his feet and started to pace. He couldn’t keep still. There was this nervous energy inside him and it needed an outlet. He felt like he could run a marathon with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Kieron, on the other hand, sat as still as a statue.

He wasn’t sure what to do with this new piece of information. He felt like maybe he and Kieron had something in common now, not because they both knew John Paul, both had these romantic almost relationships with him, but because of where they were, held in this strange limbo, never able to move forward or back, like flies in the web of John Paul’s fear and pride.

“Does he treat you like he treats me?” Craig asked, coming to a stop.

Kieron looked up at him. “How does he treat you?”

“Does he refuse to define things?” Craig asked. “Does he only talk about the things he wants to talk about and completely ignore everything that he doesn’t consider to be in his best interests? Does he always think he knows best? Does he act entitled? Does he hurt you without even seeming to care?”

“Yeah,” Kieron replied simply.

Craig nodded. “Did he refuse to address whether you were over or not?”

Kieron nodded. Craig knew that didn’t mean John Paul had refused to break up with him, just that he’d refused to talk about it, refused to acknowledge that they were even together in the first place. For the first time Craig felt truly sorry for Kieron. It must have been so painful to put up with John Paul dismissing him like that for over a year. Craig could barely stand it, and he hadn’t had to deal with it for half as long.

He sat back down on the sofa heavily. Kieron’s relationship with John Paul might have been completely in the wrong, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be treated like he never even mattered. Craig couldn’t imagine anyone deserving that. He knew just how hurtful it was.

“Did you ever go to confession?” he asked. “About what you did with John Paul.”

“God knows what I did,” Kieron replied. “I don’t need to confess it. He knows that I repent.”

“Then why does anyone go?” Craig asked. “If God knows anyway, why do people bother going?”

Kieron looked up at him. “Confession is more for the sake of the sinner than it is for God.”

Craig stared at him. He’d never thought about it like that. Something about the words made him ache, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Maybe it was the hope that was laced through his words. Maybe it was the idea that just being sorry was enough. Craig thought everything in his life had kind of spiralled far past that point now, but maybe a leap of faith could somehow see him through. Maybe he could do what John Paul wouldn’t and give him the benefit of the doubt.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from John Paul's POV. I wouldn't normally switch POVs in the middle of a story like this, but there were certain things that I wanted to explore at this point. If you don't feel comfortable with a random POV switch, you can skip this chapter and catch up with Craig in the next one. The story should still make perfect sense to you without this chapter.

John Paul laid back on the bed, staring at the blank wall opposite him. There was nothing in this room, this cell, that made it feel like his, nothing on show to mark it as his own and make him feel at home. There was just a photograph under the mattress and a box of letters under the bed.

He’d thought about decorating the room once upon a time, but he hadn’t really known where to start. Putting up his Liverpool posters would have been much too dangerous a statement, automatically making him the enemy of anyone who supported a different team. John Paul didn’t want to give anyone a reason to notice him. His Brokeback Mountain poster wouldn’t exactly have sent the right message out either. No part of himself felt safe to expose, so he just left the walls blank.

When Craig had sent him the drawing of the superhero, he’d wanted to put that up, wanted to see it everyday, a constant reminder of the strength he wanted to have, the strength it seemed Craig had wanted to give him. But he felt like he was giving away some secret by putting it up for everyone to see. It was too personal to have someone come along and make fun of it or tear it down. It meant far too much to him. And so the drawing went in the box under the bed and the walls stayed blank.

John Paul groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to think about this; about Craig, about superheroes, about strength. But most days, all he did was think. His mind wasn’t stimulated and so it wandered, rarely to anything pleasant. He’d liked the distraction of having a cute boy to think about, before the cute boy had gone and fallen for him and everything had basically gone to shit. Now he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself.

It was Saturday, and while Saturdays offered the excitement of a visit, there was none of the structure that John Paul used to drag himself through the days. Saturday and Sunday were just ‘association’, and John Paul had absolutely no desire to associate himself with any of the people out there. He wanted to stay as far away from them all as possible, and so he let them play their games and watch their TV and have their bonding, and he stayed in his cell, out of the way.

Usually, he used this time to read books or write letters, but he didn’t really have either of those options today. He only had one chapter left in the book he was reading and he was scared to finish it because he wasn’t sure if Craig would send him another one. And he knew that if he really wanted another book, he could just ask someone else to send him one, but it wouldn’t be the same. Craig had always sent John Paul the books because he’d wanted to help, because he thought he was worth helping. If he didn’t think that anymore then John Paul was inclined to believe him.

But the truth was that John Paul couldn’t quite work out what Craig thought of him, and that had kind of been the problem all along. Every time John Paul thought he’d gotten his head around Craig’s feelings, something seemed to change. If he was honest, he still didn’t understand why Craig had even sent him those books in the first place, but he’d grown to accept it, to maybe feel like he deserved it. Then Craig had written to him, then they’d met, and John Paul had come around to the idea that Craig had actually wanted to be his friend, not because he felt sorry for him or because John Paul had something that he wanted, but because he seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. They got along. They clicked.

And then, just as John Paul had started to let his guard down, Craig had turned into some lovesick puppy, and John Paul didn’t know how to handle it. He was sick of spending his nights using a pillow to stifle his sobs, while during the day he had to walk around like everything rolled off his back. It was tearing him apart. But he’d come to accept that too, accept that Craig was going to look at him like that, even if it would never happen. He thought they’d reached an understanding. Until Craig had started talking about getting off, like he was progressing their relationship completely without John Paul’s consent, and John Paul had had enough. He’d gone as far as he could with it. It hurt him in more ways than he thought possible, but it felt like a raw necessity.

For two weeks after John Paul had turned his back, Craig had carried on writing to him. Each letter seemed to show a different side to what he was going through, a different version of Craig’s conflicted self. John Paul held onto the angry letters, because they were easier to deal with, but there was no real reason to believe that they were any more honest than the rest of them. There was no reason for John Paul to believe that he understood Craig at all.

But if anyone was guilty of inconsistencies, of not knowing what they wanted, then John Paul was far guiltier than Craig, he knew that. Only John Paul _did_ know what he wanted, or rather what he wanted to want. It’s just that John Paul’s head and John Paul’s heart had never been on the same page.

It had been nearly a week since Craig’s last letter though. He hadn’t said he was giving up, but he didn’t seem to be writing anymore either. So John Paul wasn’t reading the final chapter of his book and there were no letters that he felt like writing. There was nothing he felt like doing. He was probably better off without Craig in the long run, but he’d forgotten what his routine was like before he had something that made him happy.

*

John Paul tried to put a brave face on as he stepped into the visiting hall. He was seeing his mum and Carmel today, both of whom would mother him within an inch of his life if he’d let them. And maybe he needed that right now. Maybe he _should_ let them. If ever he needed a cuddle from his mum and a glass of cherryade, it was now. He didn’t really want her to know that though. He didn’t want to be more of a burden than he already was.

As he saw them approaching his table, he gave them a smile, but they didn’t quite smile back. Carmel kept throwing worried glances at Myra as they walked across the room. Something was wrong.

“Hi,” John Paul said as they sat down opposite him. His eyes flicked between them as he tried to read them both.

“Hiya,” Carmel replied, trying to act like her usual perky self, smile and all, but she didn’t quite pull it off.

Myra looked down at the table for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I want to talk to you about something,” she said. “And I want you to be honest with me.”

John Paul’s heart dropped. This was about to turn bad. The last thing he wanted right now was to somehow become a bigger disappointment to his mother.

“Mum,” Carmel said quietly.

“If you don’t want to hear it then you can go wait outside,” Myra told her. “Only you’ve already heard it all, haven’t you?” she added bitterly.

“Heard what?” John Paul asked. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but he couldn’t just let it sit there.

“You and Kieron,” Myra stated.

John Paul felt a blinding, dehibilitating panic scramble up from within him. Some instinct told him to curl up into a ball, but he couldn’t move, literally couldn’t move. He just stared at Myra, feeling this clawing dread churning up his insides.

“Guilty as sin,” Myra said, taking in the sight of him. She shook her head.

John Paul turned to Carmel. She gave him an apologetic look that really didn’t cut it. His face turned into the cruel sneer that he’d gotten far too good at over the last year.

“I didn’t tell her,” Carmel said quickly. “I promise, John Paul, it wasn’t me.”

“Well who the hell was it, then?” John Paul demanded. “Because you’re the only person I ever told. And I really doubt Kieron was going to tell her himself.”

“It was Craig,” Carmel admitted.

“Craig?” John Paul asked incredulously. “You told Craig?”

His mind was reeling; he couldn’t take it all in. Craig knew. Everyone knew. The sick feeling in his stomach kept multiplying until he had to close his eyes against it. His skin felt uncomfortably hot. He curled his hands up into fists and bit down on his tongue.

“Haven’t you got anything to say for yourself?” Myra asked expectantly.

John Paul opened his eyes, but he focused them firmly on Carmel. “Why would you tell Craig?” he demanded. “Why would you do that? After everything...”

“I’m sorry,” Carmel said desperately. “I thought he deserved to know. He was in a really bad way, John Paul.”

“Yeah, whereas everything’s hunky-fucking-dory for me, isn’t it, Carmel?” John Paul spat out. Carmel looked as if she was about to cry, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. “It might be easy for you all to forget about me while I’m in here, but I didn’t think you’d be so quick to brush me aside. You do owe me.”

“John Paul,” Myra snapped. “Don’t you speak to her like that.”

John Paul rolled his eyes, looking dismissively away. He heard Carmel sniffle slightly and he felt the guilt piling down on his shoulders, adding to everything else that he held there. He shouldn’t talk to her like that. It wasn’t really her fault. But he just couldn’t believe that Carmel, of all people, would take someone else’s side over his own. He’d always thought that, if he could count on anyone, it would be her. That was the reason he’d told her in the first place.

“Listen,” Myra said, her voice gentler now. “Just talk to me. Tell me what happened.” John Paul snorted a laugh, refusing to look at her. “I know he’s a man of authority. Did he force you into it?”

John Paul turned slowly to face her. “It’s got fuck all to do with you.”

Myra just stared at him calmly. “Did the big boys in here teach you it was clever to talk like that?” she asked, her patronising tone making John Paul grit his teeth. He raised his eyebrows and looked away again. “You can pretend all you like, son, but you’re still John Paul McQueen. You’re still my little boy. You can’t change that.”

John Paul met her eyes, giving her a cold stare. “I stopped being your little boy the first time I shoved that knife into his chest,” he said, daring her to flinch, to look away. She didn’t, but John Paul could see a change anyway, a subtle distaste colouring her features. “And by the sixth time, I was someone else entirely.”

“Does it make it easier if you tell yourself that?” Myra challenged.

John Paul felt himself falter. He’d come to hate the truth. He’d told nothing but the truth at his trial, and look where that had gotten him. And now all the truth did was make him vulnerable and show all of his weak spots and he couldn’t allow to let that happen. So, yes, it was easier to pretend that he was a different person now. If he could make himself believe it, then maybe he could get through this in one piece.

“How did it happen?” Myra asked. Her voice was soft but commanding. It was that familiar tone that still evoked the urge to spill his secrets and let her make it better.

“You want the details?” he taunted.

“I want the truth,” Myra responded.

“Ask Kieron then,” John Paul replied. “He was there too.”

“I am not talking to _him_ ,” Myra said bitterly, and the way she said that last word showed her raw nerve all too clearly to John Paul. He had a keen instinct for such things now, and he knew just how to use them to his advantage.

“What, Saint Kieron?” he asked innocently. “Don’t you worship at his feet? I thought he was the Second Coming.”

Myra gave him a hard stare. He was getting to her, he could tell he was.

“I have a right to know what was going on,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” John Paul told her. “I think I’ve paid my dues to this family. None of you have a right to ask me anything anymore.”

“I know you don’t mean that,” Carmel said, her voice meek and almost hopeful. It made John Paul’s facade crack and threaten to shatter. He held onto it with everything he had.

“I don’t owe any of you anything,” he said. “And I don’t have to sit here while you pretend that _you’re_ the ones hard done by here.”

He got to his feet, feeling the adrenaline pulse through his body. He didn’t want to walk away, especially not now. Everything was falling apart and he wasn’t sure how to deal with losing anyone else. He could tell himself that turning his back on Craig was for the best, for both of them, and the fact was that he mostly believed it. He wasn’t sure how to justify the fact that he was turning his back on his own family though. But he turned his back anyway, and he walked away, because it was the only thing he could think to do to stop this getting worse. There was no way he was answering his mother’s questions, so this is what he was left with.

“John Paul McQueen, don’t you dare walk away from me,” Myra yelled across the room. John Paul would have cringed with embarrassment if it wasn’t breaking his heart.

When he got back to his cell, a mixture of anger and pain and loss and shame was coursing through his veins, threatening to boil over. It was too much. He could feel the frustration of it seizing his muscles, something like a tantrum threatening to erupt, and he hated himself for it. But he wasn’t equipped to handle any of this and it seemed so unfair that he should have to try.

He lashed out suddenly, almost taking himself by surprise with it as he kicked over the chair, sending it across the cell with a loud clatter. It didn’t help. He looked around for something else to destroy, but his meagre possessions were just too valuable to him. They were all he had.

“Oi, McQueen.”

John Paul turned reluctantly, finding himself faced with Henderson, one of the guards. He wasn’t one of the worst ones, but he wasn’t one to mess with either, John Paul knew that.

“There a problem in here?” Henderson asked. The tone in his voice told John Paul there had better not be.

“I knocked my chair over,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level, trying to not make it obvious that he was digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“Cos I can always take you down to segregation to cool off for a little while if need be,” Henderson said, a quiet menace in his voice. “So are you sure there’s no problem?”

John Paul forced himself to take a deep breath, the action calming him a little, making him see clearly enough to get out of this. He shook his head, his mouth twitching into an approximation of a smile. “No problem.”

“Good,” Henderson said, looking him up and down. He nodded towards the chair. “Don’t you need to pick that up then?”

“Right,” John Paul muttered, leaning down and setting the chair upright again.

“Try not to knock anything else over, won’t you?” Henderson said critically, before heading off on his way.

John Paul’s body sagged, in defeat or exhaustion he wasn’t quite sure. He looked at the chair. The chair that sat in front of the desk. The desk where he wrote all of his letters. If he couldn’t hit things, break things, maybe he could take out his frustrations in another way. Because, if he thought about it, there was someone to blame for the way things had ended up. There was someone to blame for his secret coming out. Someone far more guilty than naive, trusting Carmel.

He sat down on the chair and reached for his writing pad.

 _What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Is this some kind of punishment because I wouldn’t reply to your letters? I told you where things stood, I never stopped telling you where things stood. Don’t blame me for having to do this because you seem incapable of taking no for an answer. So you told my mum about Kieron? Yeah, thanks for that, really mature. You’re not even supposed to know about Kieron, and I don’t know how you got it out of Carmel, but why the hell would you tell my mum? I hope you know that you’ve fucked everything up. I hope that you know that I can’t even look her in the eye, let alone talk to her. I’m really on my own now. So are we even? Does that make us even? Because I don’t have anything else left to take, Craig. I guess this means you’ve stopped wanting forgiveness at least. After the stunt you’ve pulled, you can’t be expecting it. You did the one thing I never did. Because I might have stabbed a man to death, but at least I didn’t twist the knife._

*

It took John Paul a week to finally start reading that final chapter of his book. He knew the second that he sent that letter to Craig that he wouldn’t be getting another one, but he saved that last chapter anyway. But when Saturday rolled around again, he was too lonely to hold off any longer. He had no visitors.

After a couple of days, John Paul had calmed down enough to think rationally about Carmel’s betrayal. And maybe it shouldn’t have taken him that long, but he’d lost all perspective since he’d been in there. His life was so tiny and the smallest of things could seem huge. This was not the smallest of things. Still, he was perfectly sure that Carmel would only ever have acted out of the best intentions. If she’d told Craig about him and Kieron then she had her reasons. John Paul couldn’t quite imagine what they were, but she had them.

He wrote her a letter trying to explain things, mend some bridges, but he’d lost all hope that anyone would understand him anymore. He’d given it a shot though. He’d tried to be honest with her and he’d offered her an apology and he’d told her that she didn’t really owe him. She never asked him for any of this. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like a victim again, at the mercy of some irrational bloke’s temper.

He told her not to write back. He told her that he’d phone when he could face it, when he felt less like utter scum. That took another couple of days. They talked for a long time. Carmel cried a little and John Paul wanted to. They accepted apologies from one another. Carmel let him know how his mum was taking the whole thing. John Paul didn’t talk to her though. He couldn’t face that. He had no intention of answering her questions, no matter how justified they were. He asked Carmel if she’d say the right thing to Myra on his behalf though. Somehow he felt sure that she’d know what that was. He trusted her.

He didn’t feel like he had anyone to invite this Saturday though. Things needed to blow over a little before he invited any of his family back again. So he turned to the book instead. He didn’t think that he’d get a time when he needed it more than this.

“Have you got any cigarettes?”

John Paul looked up to see Liam Radcliffe, a fellow inmate, standing just outside his door. Liam was alright, a decent enough person who never gave him any trouble, but he was a little too chatty for John Paul’s liking sometimes. He wasn’t here to make friends.

“Yeah,” he replied, turning back to his book. Liam stepped into the cell.

“What do you want for them?”

“What have you got?”

Liam gave a shrug. “Chocolate?”

“I have chocolate,” John Paul replied, thinking of the stacks of comfort food his mum sent him. Maybe he should try trading that with someone.

Liam sighed, leaning against the wall. “Why are you sitting up here on your own?”

“I’m reading,” John Paul said shortly.

“Yeah, you read a lot,” Liam agreed. “I’m getting out in two months. Well, I’m up for parole.”

“Good for you,” John Paul muttered, wondering why he was supposed to care.

“You’ve been here longer than me,” Liam said. “You’re gonna be here way longer than me. And you still can’t see how to play the game, can you?”

John Paul felt himself tense. He gave Liam a scathing look. “It’s not a game.”

“Just sayin’,” Liam shrugged. “You might as well be in solitary for all you talk to people.”

“Maybe I wish I was,” John Paul responded. It wasn’t really true. He thought that he’d probably go insane if he was left to his own devices all day. But most of the time he just wanted to be left the fuck alone, which is why he didn’t talk to anyone. He just wanted to be invisible.

“You know where you’ll be goin’ yet?” Liam asked. “When they send you to a real prison, I mean.”

John Paul felt his heart sink at the prospect. He knew that it was coming, had always known, but he didn’t want to think about it. When he went to a proper prison at the age of twenty-one, he was just going to be some kid at the bottom of the pecking order, the one everyone shit on. Here, people thought he was kind of weird and maybe dangerous and most people were at least a little wary of him. He didn’t get much trouble. The quiet intensity thing that he worked at probably wouldn’t get him very far against the men he would meet there.

“Probably Liverpool,” he replied. “Suppose it depends where they have a spare bunk.”

Liam nodded. An inmate came past with the mail cart, pausing outside John Paul’s cell and glancing at him before throwing a letter unceremoniously into the middle of his floor and moving on. John Paul rolled his eyes, but chose not to comment. He looked at the letter. It was Craig’s handwriting. He stared at it, a cold feeling in his stomach. Why was Craig still writing to him? Why couldn’t he just do what John Paul expected of him for once?

“I have stamps,” Liam said suddenly.

“What?” John Paul asked, looking up at him and shaking his head slightly. He had no idea what they were talking about anymore.

“Stamps,” Liam repeated. “I don’t really write letters. Prefer phone calls. But you write letters. You want my stamps? For a packet of cigarettes.”

“Yeah,” John Paul said distractedly. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Cool,” Liam said. “I’ll go grab them.”

He disappeared and John Paul looked down at the letter again with something like dread. He didn’t trust it. What could Craig possibly have left to say to him? He tried to stamp out the tiny glimmer of hope that Craig’s handwriting gave him. It was like he was stuck in some horrible catch 22. If Craig had something nice to say to him, then John Paul couldn’t realistically respect him for it, but if Craig had nothing nice to say, if he gave John Paul the condemnation he deserved, then it was really over. Either way, he was getting his heart broken.

He leaned down, picking up the envelope and looking at it. Some kind of nostalgia or romanticism left him wanting to trace his fingers over the way Craig wrote his name. He gave a huff of frustration and impatience and tore the letter open.

 _John Paul_

 _It’s funny how you only ever mention your murdering Jimmy Hudson when you want to drive someone away, when you want to test someone. It’s like your natural defence mechanism. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And I don’t want to use the word murder, but I think you want me to. Like I’m supposed to look down on you or be scared of you or something. But we both know you didn’t really mean to kill him, don’t we?_

 _And I never twisted the knife, if you really want to use that phrase. I wasn’t being spiteful when I told your mum about you and Kieron. I never really meant to tell her at all. I’m not a child and I don’t need revenge. It’s that passion that we spoke about, that passion that apparently you don’t have. I guess I can see how that would be a good thing. Things are safer without passion._

 _One question though. Why exactly am I supposed to be looking for your forgiveness? Because I fell in love with you? Do I need forgiving for that?_

 _I am sorry for spilling your secret about Kieron. The last thing I wanted to do was make things worse for you. If you understood me at all then you’d see that. But I guess you don’t understand me. I guess that’s where the problem is. Please don’t take any of this out on Carmel. I kind of coerced her into telling me. And she actually did it to help us. The irony of that isn’t lost on me._

 _I actually got talking to Kieron though. You’ve been pretty unfair to him. I don’t really understand things between the two of you, and I don’t think I want to, but I think you owe him something. He’s stuck by you this long. The least you can do is put him out of his misery and actually let him see you. I hope you know that otherwise you’d just be using him. I guess I want to think better of you than that, though you haven’t given me much evidence to back that up with._

 _Craig_

John Paul felt sick. He could feel the churning of his stomach and the tightness of his throat. It was so much worse than he thought. Craig understood him. He was under his skin and he saw him for what he was. If John Paul was honest, that was what he’d worked so hard to avoid. But Craig _knew_ him. He knew his tricks and he knew his vulnerabilities. He’d run out of places to hide.

And he’d used the word _love_. The first time John Paul got to see that word and it was in the middle of a fight, said with what John Paul assumed to be bitterness. He should be happy. He should be over the moon. And maybe a tiny part of him was. But this was the end, wasn’t it? This was where they parted ways, right where it should have meant the most, right at the point of _I love you_.

John Paul wished that he was at home so that he could deal with this like a normal teenager. He wished that he could slam his door and throw himself on his bed and cry his eyes out as loudly as he wanted. He wished that Jacqui was there to threaten to take care of whoever upset him and Carmel was there to offer that there were plenty more fish in the sea and Michaela was there to make fun of him and then nick something out of his room while he was distracted. He wished that his mum was there to cook him a special tea and stroke his hair and call him her gorgeous lad, or one of the million other nice things she had to say about him.

But he wasn’t at home, so he just sat on that chair in his cell, a dazed feeling clouding his mind and making his whole body feel numb. If he was a normal teenager, he wouldn’t have to deal with this at all. Craig would be his. Or maybe he wouldn’t know Craig at all. He wasn’t sure in that moment whether that would be better or worse.

*

John Paul didn’t send Kieron an explanation, just a visiting order. He half didn’t expect him to come. He did though, because Kieron was just that kind of guy. Reliable. Dependable. Trustworthy. Sometimes John Paul could barely stand it.

Kieron was wearing jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He probably thought he was making a good impression. It was the kind of thing he’d do. John Paul watched him as he walked across the room towards him and he felt something that he couldn’t quite identify. Something like comfort and safety. It was the feeling he always had on those nights when they were together. Everything else was falling down around him and it was like Kieron was the only person who had any time for him. He’d wrapped his arms around John Paul that first time and what had happened had happened, almost without them realising it until it was too late. Every kiss, every touch, it was wrong, but they couldn’t stop it. And it made John Paul feel wanted. It made him feel loved. It made him feel like he wasn’t completely alone. Someone was there to look after him.

He’d cried afterwards, and Kieron had held him, even though he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. And John Paul thought that was why it didn’t end there. If he’d have held himself together, let Kieron leave, then maybe they could have brushed over it and carried on being mates. But Kieron had held him, stayed with him all night, and John Paul wasn’t sure how to let go after that.

And now they were back here again. Kieron was the only one who was there for him, the only one he could turn to. John Paul hated thinking of it in those terms, because it made him feel like he was using Kieron, picking him up when it suited him. And maybe he was. Maybe he really was that horrible a person. But Kieron was his friend, had been his friend all along, and Craig’s words had stirred him into action. Maybe he did owe him this, whatever this was.

“Hi,” Kieron greeted as he sat down opposite him, looking at John Paul in that unerringly kind way.

“Hi,” John Paul returned, offering him a faint smile.

“How are you?” Kieron asked.

John Paul snorted an incredulous laugh. He couldn’t help himself. “Is that a serious question?” he asked. “Look around, I think it answers itself.”

Kieron just looked at him steadily. “How are you?” he repeated.

John Paul sighed. The lack of reaction bothered him if he was honest. “Okay. I dunno. If you wanted to bake me a cake with a file in it, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Not really one for baking, I’m afraid,” Kieron replied, his voice perfectly deadpan. John Paul smiled for real then.

“Thanks for not wearing your priest outfit.”

Kieron glanced down at himself. “Didn’t seem entirely appropriate.”

John Paul nodded. “Has it been difficult?” he asked. “This past year. Pretending like...” He trailed off. They both knew what he was talking about. Kieron’s face turned serious.

“I get by,” he replied thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m a hypocrite. And sometimes the guilt is...” He shook his head slightly, looking down at the table. “I think that intentions count for a lot. Surely you understand that.”

“Well, I’m hardly going to judge you, am I?” John Paul replied. They shared a look. A thousand words unsaid. John Paul sighed, feeling the weight of it all. “You should apply to work in the chaplaincy here,” he said, breaking into the silence. “I can bully out the old guy if you’re interested.”

Kieron looked slightly amused. “You go to the chaplaincy?”

“No,” John Paul said simply. He looked down at the table. He didn’t want anything to do with that kind of judgement. He didn’t know how Kieron lived with it, day in, day out. Still, a question had nagged at him, whether he believed in God or not. It was more about acceptance than anything. “Can I ask you something?”

Kieron met his eyes. “Of course.”

John Paul swallowed self-consciously. “Do you think that God forgives murderers?”

Kieron looked at him seriously. John Paul could see how grown up he was in that moment, and it made him feel small. Maybe that was why he craved his answers. John Paul wasn’t grown up enough to answer them himself.

“Do you forgive yourself?” Kieron asked.

John Paul felt a heavy weight in his gut. “I’m not God,” he stated. Somehow it felt like it needed to be said. Kieron was missing the point. Or he was more perceptive than John Paul was comfortable with.

“Is that why you asked me here?” Kieron asked. “Some kind of existential crisis?”

“I’m not having an existential crisis,” John Paul said. “Craig convinced me it was a good idea.”

Kieron looked at him, surprised. “Craig?” John Paul nodded. “Craig doesn’t even like me, he’s made that abundantly clear.”

“Well, he must like you more than he likes me,” John Paul said, unable to keep the resentment out of his voice. “He doesn’t approve of the way I’ve been treating you.”

Something passed over Kieron’s face, something like recollection and understanding. Clearly they’d talked about this at some point. John Paul really didn’t want the details.

“Anyway, you never answered my question,” he said. “Does God forgive murderers?”

“And you never answered my question,” Kieron responded. “Do you forgive yourself?”

“I don’t see...”

“Do you repent?” Kieron interrupted. “Because there’s no rule book, John Paul. Every sin must be taken on its own merits. And you need to want forgiveness before you can get anywhere close to getting it.”

“Isn’t the bible a rule book?” John Paul muttered, looking down at the table.

Kieron didn’t bother to reply. John Paul knew that he wouldn’t. He felt like he was in Sunday school or something. Why had he started this? He wanted to take a sip of his drink, buy himself some time, but he didn’t have a drink. Kieron hadn’t even offered him one. He didn’t know how it worked. So parables about sinners and forgiveness swam around his head and he somehow found himself missing Craig even more than he had done before. Why was it always those little things that meant the most?

“What did Jesus say about lost sheep?” he asked distractedly. “Was it that you should leave the herd to find the one lost sheep? Did he say that? Because that doesn’t really make sense, does it? To leave all those sheep for one. But I think that’s what he said.”

“Jesus said you should look for the lost sheep,” Kieron confirmed. “And there would be much rejoicing when he was found.”

“Does that mean someone will find me?” John Paul asked, his voice seeming small and frail to his own ears. “Because I got lost.” He met Kieron’s eyes, Kieron’s kind eyes, the ones that offered so much more than John Paul had ever felt he deserved. He felt something give inside him. “I’m really scared, Kieron,” he whispered, words that he’d denied himself for a whole year. It didn’t feel much better to say them out loud.

Kieron’s eyes flickered with sadness, with heartache, perhaps even with longing, but then he set his features into a look of pure determination. “You have to remember that you have a lot of people who care about you.”

John Paul shook his head. It was like he’d broken the lock and he didn’t know how to stop. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said. “I can’t take it.”

“John Paul,” Kieron said tenderly. “You’ve made it this far. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I’m not though, am I?” John Paul said. “I never was. You were the strong one.”

“There was nothing strong about me, John Paul,” Kieron assured him.

“Your arms were strong,” John Paul stated. Kieron gave him a strange look, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was being serious or not. Truth be told, John Paul wasn’t quite sure either.

“It’s a step forward, anyway,” Kieron stated.

John Paul gave him a questioning look. “What is?”

“The fact that you’re asking for help,” Kieron said. “I’ve never heard you do that before.”

John Paul frowned. “What?”

“You always think that you have to do everything on your own,” Kieron stated. “I mean, that’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” John Paul insisted.

Kieron sighed. He turned away, looking thoughtful. John Paul wasn’t sure that he was going to like whatever he had to say. He wasn’t just being pedantic though, difficult for the sake of being difficult. He was trying his best to be open for once, but uncertainty was making him want to shut down again, making him want to protect himself.

Kieron looked at him again. “None of this had to happen, John Paul,” he said sadly. “But you never asked for help.”

“Help with what?” John Paul asked. He could feel that dread again, cold in his belly. He didn’t want to know. He couldn’t not know.

“John Paul, I’m a priest,” Kieron stated. “I know how to deal with situations like Carmel’s. I could have contacted the woman’s refuge for her, gotten her a place, she would have been safe there. They have counsellors, people who know how to handle these things. But you never asked. You had to do it all by yourself.”

John Paul could feel his face changing, setting in determination and contempt. He knew that hot angry tears would fall if he was in any position to let them. “She didn’t belong in a refuge, Kieron,” he said. “She belonged with her family.”

“And he knew exactly where to find her,” Kieron said. “You couldn’t keep her safe. This was bigger than you.”

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?” John Paul spat out. “She’s alright.”

“Jimmy Hudson isn’t,” Kieron returned.

John Paul froze. He fought back the images. The knife, the blood, so much blood. So many tears. Every time he thought he was over that night, it would take him by surprise all over again. It didn’t happen every time Jimmy was mentioned, definitely not every time he mentioned Jimmy out of spite, but sometimes, when he was vulnerable enough to not be able to fight it, he’d found himself swept up and placed back there again, Carmel’s screams echoing in his ears.

“I’m just trying to make a point,” Kieron said.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. “And if I could feel my legs right now I’d probably walk away from you.”

“I know you would,” Kieron said.

John Paul looked at him. “So, what, you resent me? You came here to attack me? Is that it?”

“I’m not attacking you, John Paul,” Kieron stated, his tone of voice more than a little condescending, like he was speaking to a small child. “I came here to make sure you’re alright.”

“And you found me a little too alright so you thought you’d take me down a peg or two?” John Paul accused.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt,” Kieron said. John Paul gave a dismissive snort, looking away as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t have everything your own way,” Kieron told him. “It’s called growing up.”

“I’m not a grown up ‘til I’m twenty-one, according to the system,” John Paul replied.

“And by then it’ll be too late,” Kieron responded. John Paul crossed his arms a little tighter, held himself a little stiffer. He didn’t want to hear this. “You need to learn when to ask for help,” Kieron said. “You need to stop trying to do it all on your own.”

John Paul shrugged. “I told you I was scared,” he said in a tiny voice. “I told you that I can’t do it.”

“I know,” Kieron agreed, his voice encouraging. “I’m proud of you.”

John Paul gave a humourless laugh. “Fuck off,” he said affectionately.

“So,” Kieron said. “What’s this thing with Craig?”

“There is no thing with Craig,” John Paul dismissed.

“He said the same thing,” Kieron replied. “Only he seems to think it’s your fault and you seem to think it’s his fault. I know who I’m inclined to side with.”

John Paul gave him a look. “I didn’t ask for any of this to happen,” he said. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t mess him around because you’re scared,” Kieron told him.

“I’m not messing him around,” John Paul snapped. “Why am I the bad guy? I didn’t lead him on. I only tried to be his friend. All I wanted was a friend. If there’s anyone you can trust to be just your friend then it’s a straight bloke, right?”

Kieron nodded. “Or a priest.”

“Yeah. Or a priest.”

Kieron looked down. He seemed sad and maybe a little guilty. But he never did anything that John Paul didn’t want. Craig never did anything that John Paul didn’t want either, truth be told. He just had no way of handling any of this.

“He sent me a letter,” John Paul said. “I thought we were done, then he sent me a letter. He used the word love. Love. What I am supposed to do with love?”

Kieron looked up at him. “You accept it and you return it and you let it grow.”

“Right,” John Paul said. “And how I am supposed to do that in here? I’d get my head kicked in for even looking at him.” He gave a frustrated sigh. “It’s alright. I think we’ve burnt that bridge anyway. Probably for the best.”

“And you’re just going to leave it like that?” Kieron asked.

“Like what?” John Paul asked. “It’s done with. Finished.”

“John Paul, you can’t treat people like that,” Kieron told him. “You need to talk to him. He has no idea what’s going on in your head. He deserves that much.”

John Paul gave him a puzzled look. He couldn’t quite work it out. “He deserves what exactly? Why is it that everybody seems to think they’re entitled to some part of me? I never promised anyone anything, alright? I wish everyone would just leave me alone.”

“No you don’t,” Kieron told him. “You’re terrified of being on your own. You just don’t know how to let people in. Sometimes you have to meet halfway.”

“I let you in,” John Paul replied.

Kieron levelled his gaze at him. “Did you?”

John Paul looked away. Maybe he never did. Maybe it was just convenience and loneliness that drew them together. “I didn’t mean to lead you on,” he said. “I never meant to lead anyone on.”

“Write to him,” Kieron insisted.

“And say what?” John Paul asked. “I know how to make up with Carmel. I even know how to get around my mum in the long run. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it up to him. I don’t even think it’s fair to try. I should just let him get on with his life. Because what can I offer him?”

“He’s not getting on with his life, John Paul,” Kieron told him. “He can’t. He doesn’t have closure.”

“Okay, I don’t understand,” John Paul said, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to work it out. “Am I supposed to be apologising or sending him on his way?”

“You’re supposed to be honest,” Kieron told him. “Tell him everything. Then let him decide where he stands. Let him decide if you’re worth the risk. You can’t decide for him. It doesn’t work like that.”

John Paul rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not worth it, Kieron. It’s not worth it. This isn’t good for either of us. What’s the point?”

“When did you know?” Kieron asked.

“That it wasn’t healthy?”

“That he wasn’t just a friend?”

John Paul sighed, feeling himself getting seriously wound up. “He _is_ just a friend. He’s a mate. He was a mate. He’s the one who ruined it, not me.”

Kieron just stared at him, giving him time, waiting. He knew that he’d crack eventually. It was a trick that Craig had started to pick up. Just more evidence of how much he knew him. John Paul glanced around. This wasn’t a conversation he needed to be having here. This seemed almost more dangerous than having Craig across from him, that feeling welling up inside him, the way their bodies drew closer and John Paul didn’t know how they were possibly not giving themselves away.

“I thought he was fit,” John Paul admitted, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “I mean, when I first saw him, I thought he was really fit. Then he turned out to be nice too. We got on really well. And maybe I had some idle thoughts, but that’s all they were. I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere. That’s why it was safe. And then he went and...” He made a vague gesture with his hand, sighing in frustration. “And that made it impossible. Because we both wanted it. There was this possibility between us. I used to love thinking about him, but then it got so complicated. I tried to be his friend, but... I can’t be his friend. We can’t be friends. It’s like this horrible all or nothing situation, and I think nothing might be for the best. Because I can give him everything and it still won’t be enough. I can like him back, but I can’t...” He shook his head sadly. “All I can give him is heartache and longing and how long is he gonna be able to stand that for? He’s not gonna stick by me. Why would he? I can’t even touch him. He can talk about love all he wants, he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.”

“I think you need to give him a little more credit,” Kieron told him. “He’s gone into this with his eyes open. He knew what the terms were from the start.”

“He’s an idealist,” John Paul said. “He told me once that he was a realist, but he’s not. A realist would’ve run a mile the second they had the slightest twinge of feeling for someone in this situation. But he didn’t. He held my hand. Realists don’t hold hands.”

“So you’re a realist then?” Kieron asked.

“No,” John Paul said, remembering fondly the conversation he’d had with Craig. “No, I’m a romantic.”

“Sounds like the two of you are a fit then,” Kieron commented.

John Paul gave him a look. “You’re a romantic too,” he pointed out. “Didn’t get us very far.”

“I’m not a romantic,” Kieron replied. “I’m just a sucker for being needed.”

John Paul looked down at the table. He knew that. He’d always known that. That was how he’d ended up in bed with him in the first place. And maybe he’d used Kieron, but maybe Kieron had used him too. It wasn’t exactly love that had drawn the two of them together. It was nothing like this thing that he felt for Craig.

“I need your help now,” he told Kieron. “Because I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I messed it all up so badly, I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“Write him a letter,” Kieron said. “Put it all out there. Total honesty. Because this isn’t something that you can fix, John Paul, not on your own. It’s going to take both of you. So start the ball rolling. If he thinks you’re worth fighting for, maybe you can work it out together.”

John Paul nodded. He knew that it was the only fair thing to do. Give Craig all of him. There was every chance that he was too late, that he’d wrecked this forever, but maybe that was okay too. Closure wasn’t always about happy endings. Sometimes it was just about letting go and moving on.

John Paul knew for a fact that he was ready to let go of his secrets, his affair with Kieron, the words that he used to protect himself. Maybe it was too little too late, but Craig was responsible for him taking the risk, and so there was no way he could lose completely. He tried to hold onto that fact as his heart beat too quickly in his chest, betraying the fear that coursed through his veins at the thought of letting down the wall he’d worked so hard to build up. But Kieron was right, he couldn’t do everything on his own. He had to learn when it was time to ask for help.


	21. Chapter 21

Craig knocked on the door, tossing the football up in the air and catching it while he waited. He was in a good mood, or a better mood than he’d been in for a while anyway. He was feeling productive, useful, and he was trying to cling onto the feeling and make it last as long as he could. Strike while the iron was hot, as they said. And maybe it was an illusion, maybe he was trying too hard to keep himself busy, but the smile on his face was genuine, and he knew that had to count for something.

Zak opened the door, looking Craig up and down. “Alright, mate?”

“Yeah, I am, actually,” Craig replied, perhaps a little too smugly.

Zak gave him a look, like he was wondering what had gotten into him, but invited him inside. Kris and Zoe were sat on one of the sofas, looking over some kind of storyboard that Craig assumed was for one of Zoe’s film projects.

“Craig Dean,” Kris marvelled. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Well, I have just signed myself up to play in the five-a-side student football league this summer so I wondered if anyone fancied a bit of a kickabout, get some practice in,” Craig said. He looked down at Kris’s shoes. “Anyone that’s not wearing stilettos, that is.”

“Well, I guess that counts me out then,” Kris said. “Pity.”

“Here, yeah, I’m up for that,” Zak said. “You comin’, Zo?”

“Yeah, alright, I could do with some fresh air,” she said. “And a laugh. Show you boys how it’s done.”

“Oh, like that is it?” Zak teased.

“Loser buys the beers,” Zoe challenged.

“Alright, you’re on,” Zak agreed.

The three of them headed to the park, laughing and joking all the way, and Craig realised that he’d missed this, missed being a part of something. It reminded him of his first year of college, living in the halls and getting caught up in all the crazy things that students ended up doing. And, okay, maybe none of that was entirely his scene, but he didn’t really regret the experience. And experiences were something that he was determined to have more of.

They messed around with the ball for a couple of hours, the most relaxed game of football that Craig had been part of since the school playground when he was a teenager. It was nice to be able to recapture that a little bit. Zak and Zoe were good company, and they might be better friends with each other than they were with him, but they didn’t make him feel left out at all. In fact, Craig found himself reminded of something that he’d forgotten, just why they’d been his friends in the first place. Zak was the kind of blokey, no messing mate that Craig could always have done with in his life, and Zoe was so down to earth and friendly and up for a laugh, nothing pretentious or delicate about her. Craig had even had a crush on her in his first year and he almost found it rekindled as they messed around together.

He started to wonder why he’d ever let all of this fall by the wayside. Today wasn’t supposed to be about regrets, but Craig’s life rarely seemed to be about anything else nowadays. And where there were thoughts of regret, thoughts of John Paul naturally followed. Craig was trying his best not to think about him, but it seemed like an impossibility. Whether he liked it or not, he was doing all of this because of John Paul, because of the inspiration he’d given him to seize the moment. And so he was seizing, he was getting back into football and catching up with old mates, taking steps to be a participant in his life rather than just a spectator.

He wished that he could tell John Paul about it though. He wished that he’d care. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment though. He didn’t regret his last letter, the one that called John Paul out for what he was, and he certainly wasn’t going to apologise for it. But it didn’t stop him missing what they’d shared before.

Zoe scored a goal and then did a mini-victory lap around Zak, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zak dismissed. “If we were playin’ properly, you wouldn’t have stood a chance, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Hmm,” Zoe said, exchanging a look with Craig. “And on that note, I think I’m gonna get off.”

“Thought we were goin’ for a pint,” Zak complained. “What happened to loser buys the beers?”

“Sorry, got things to sort out,” she said. “You two go ahead. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Yeah, alright,” Zak agreed.

“I’ll see you both,” Zoe said with a smile.

“Yeah, see ya, Zoe,” Craig returned. He retrieved the ball and started doing keepy uppies as Zak made his way over to him.

“Suppose you’ve got plans,” Zak said. “Need to do your sister’s washing or something?”

“Nope,” Craig said cheerily, refusing to let Zak’s preconceptions get to him. “I’m free all day.” He kicked the ball up and caught it in his hands. “Fancy goin’ to The Dog? I’ll get the first round in.”

“Yeah, alright, you’re on,” Zak agreed, seeming somewhat taken aback. Craig gave him a grin and headed off down the path, Zak catching up and walking beside him.

Craig thought that he could get used to this confidence that he’d found. It was about doing something for himself for once, doing what made him happy instead of what was expected of him or what he felt like he should be doing. He always seemed to have a sense of duty, to his mum, to The Dog, to Steph, to Tom, to his uni work. Somewhere along the way he’d kind of gotten lost in it all, he could see that now. So a small victory like a kickabout in the park and a conversation with a mate made him feel like he could do anything.

Walking through the village, they bumped into Hannah outside Drive ‘n’ Buy. She stopped upon seeing Craig and offered him a smile, adjusting her handbag on her arm.

“Hiya,” she greeted.

“Hi,” Craig returned. “I, erm, I’ve been meanin’ to call you actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hannah asked. “What for?”

“Just, I had a good time last time we went for a drink,” he said. “Thought we could do it again. Only, no death defying stunts this time.”

“Probably for the best,” she agreed with a small nod.

“Am I missing somethin’ here?” Zak asked.

“It’s between me and Hannah,” Craig said, giving her a wink. She smiled at him.

“Right,” Zak said suspiciously, looking between the two of them.

“Anyway, we were just heading for a drink if you fancied it,” Craig offered. “First round’s on me.”

“Well, in that case,” Hannah replied, motioning for him to lead the way.

They got to The Dog and found themselves a table, Craig dumping his things down before turning to Hannah. “White wine?” he asked.

“Please,” Hannah replied.

“Take it yours’ll be a pint,” he said to Zak.

“Yeah,” Zak agreed. “I’ll come give you a hand.”

“Alright,” Craig accepted as they made their way over to the bar.

“You’re well in there, mate,” Zak told him, giving him a nudge in the side.

Craig looked at him cluelessly. “What?”

“Hannah,” Zak said, nodding back towards her. “She likes you. Must be your death defying stunts.”

Craig shook his head. “She’s with Elliot.”

“They broke up a couple of weeks ago,” Zak dismissed. “No, I’d get in there if I was you.”

“She’s just a mate,” Craig insisted. “I’m not really looking for anyone at moment.”

He wondered at the truth of that statement. He wasn’t looking for someone to date at the moment, that much was true, but was that only because of his feelings for John Paul? He didn’t really know anymore if he was holding out for John Paul or if John Paul had turned into just another person who’d hurt him, used him, broken his heart. He was trying to move on, but he knew that he wasn’t. Some part of him wanted John Paul, no matter how much he reasoned against it. Some part of him wasn’t letting go.

He tried to think back to before he met John Paul, before his head had gotten all messed up and he used to be able to think clearly. He didn’t remember being interested in dating then either. He remembered being lonely though, no matter how many distractions he gave himself to mask it. Something had been missing. Now that he’d found John Paul, fallen for John Paul, he couldn’t imagine filling that gap with anything else.

He snapped himself out of it as the drinks were placed down in front of him, handing over his money and heading back to the table with Zak. He took a sip of his pint. This was just what he needed. This whole day was exactly what he needed.

“So, how’s John Paul?” Hannah asked, that hopeful look in her eye. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Erm...” Craig struggled for the words, trying not to let it show on his face. He had no idea what to tell her. “Not... not exactly.”

“Oh?” Hannah asked. She looked concerned now. Craig couldn’t stand it.

“We, erm, we kind of...” he stuttered. What was he supposed to say?

If Zak wasn’t here, maybe he’d tell her the truth. He needed to tell someone. He hadn’t spoken to the McQueens since outing Kieron and it was hard having to internalise everything, to not be able to go to Carmel or Myra, the people who understood, who were always kind to him. He hadn’t dared go back though, and there was no one else that he could speak to about it. Steph had too much on her plate and Frankie would probably try and have him exorcised, whether she believed in God or not. And Craig suddenly found himself wishing that he _could_ tell Hannah. He felt like she’d listen and still accept him and maybe that was all that he needed.

“You’re having a drink with _him_?”

Craig looked up to see Sarah standing in front of the table, looking at them both disdainfully. By her side was Rhys, looking a little too smugly on.

“Hey, what have I done?” Zak asked defensively.

“It’s alright, mate, she means me,” Craig replied.

“Oh, right,” Zak said, taking a sip of his pint and apparently losing interest.

“Sarah, he’s alright,” Hannah defended. “Besides, you can talk. Look who _you’re_ drinking with.”

“Oh, thanks, Han,” Rhys said. “Dead supportive of your big brother that is.” Hannah just rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Rhys, let’s just go get some drinks,” Sarah said.

Craig sighed as he watched them walk away. He felt guilty. He felt regret over how he’d treated her. It was like he couldn’t escape any of it. He tried to have a carefree day, but the universe seemed to be conspiring against him. Maybe fixing these issues would be the next best thing. He was sure he’d feel better in the long run.

“Craig, don’t worry about her,” Hannah told him. “She _hates_ getting dumped.”

“Yeah, that’s what John Paul said,” Craig replied.

“Did he?” Hannah asked, seeming somewhat heartened by the mention of his name, or maybe the fact they had something in common, Craig wasn’t sure which.

“I’m going to go talk to her,” Craig said, getting to his feet.

“Craig, you don’t have to,” Hannah told him. “Leave her, she’ll come round.”

Craig walked up to the bar, awkwardly moving to stand by Sarah’s side. “Hi,” he said. Sarah just gave him a dirty look. “Listen, can we... can we have a chat?”

“Can’t you take a hint?” Rhys asked.

“Please,” Craig said, making a point of ignoring him and only addressing Sarah. “Just let me explain myself.”

Sarah looked at him for a moment and Craig could see her starting to give. She sighed. “Alright,” she agreed. “Just make it quick. I came here to enjoy myself.”

“So did I,” Craig assured her.

“Sarah, you don’t owe this idiot anything,” Rhys told her.

“I know that,” she replied testily. “Just go get us a table, I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Alright,” Rhys agreed, giving Craig a warning look before walking away.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Craig said. “I am. About how I treated you. I messed you around. I did like you, alright? It’s just... there was someone else. And I liked them more. And it didn’t feel right doing anything with you when I was thinking about them.”

Sarah looked away. Craig wasn’t sure that he was doing a very good job of this.

“Have you ever fallen for someone that you knew was bad for you?” he asked.

The look on Sarah’s face said it all. “More often than I can count.”

“That’s what I did,” Craig said. “I was falling for someone and I didn’t want to fall for them and I just knew that my life would be so much easier if I could fall for you instead.”

“So you used me,” Sarah said.

“No,” Craig responded. “I don’t know. Maybe I did. I was going through a really rough time. Which isn’t an excuse, it’s a reason. It’s an explanation.”

“It’s half an explanation,” Sarah said.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “If you wanted me to tell you the other half we’d be here all night.” Sarah almost smiled at that, staring down at the bar. “But we can be mates, can’t we?” Craig asked. “Because all the complicated stuff in my life is still really complicated, but I could do with mates. And if Hannah’s gonna be my mate, it’d be useful if her best friend could stand me. So what d’ya say? Mates?” Sarah looked up at him. He could see the contempt melting away. “Come on, come join us. The more the merrier. I’ve been dying to have enough people who can stand me so that I could try that theory out.”

Sarah did smile then, but Craig could tell that she was laughing more at him than with him. Still, it was a start. Darren came over, placing the drinks down on the bar.

“Yeah, okay then,” Sarah agreed. “Thanks for the drinks,” she said, picking them up and heading towards Rhys while she left Craig to pay.

“Got you wrapped round her little finger, hasn’t she?” Darren remarked. Craig just gave him a look, handing over the money for the drinks. “She like that in the bedroom, is she?” Darren asked.

“She’s just a mate,” Craig replied. “Some of us can be just mates with girls. Some of us don’t have to try and shag everyone we meet.”

“I can be mates with girls,” Darren insisted.

“Name one girl who’s a mate that you haven’t tried to shag,” Craig challenged.

Darren frowned slightly, thinking far too hard on the subject. Craig just shook his head, starting to turn away.

“Steph,” Darren said suddenly.

“Steph’s not a mate, she doesn’t even like you,” Craig told him. “And she’s family.” He took a step away.

“Hey, wait,” Darren said. “Speaking of family, me and you should spend more time together.”

Craig stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, we should go out sometime, a club or something, what do you think?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Darren?” Craig teased.

Darren gave him a tight smile, clearly not amused. “I’m just trying to offer my services as a good role model,” he said.

“Role model?” Craig scoffed, looking him up and down.

“Oi,” Darren complained. “I am the most sane big brother figure you’ve got.”

Craig rolled his eyes. “Did mum put you up to this?”

“She might have suggested it,” Darren admitted. “Look, would you rather have me on your back or her?”

“Yeah, good point,” Craig agreed. “But I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I think this is going to be a really good summer.”

“Alright,” Darren agreed. “But you know where I am.”

“Yeah,” Craig replied. “And yet for some reason I just keep coming back here.”

“Ha ha,” Darren responded humourlessly. Craig gave him a smile, heading back to his friends.

Sarah and Rhys came over to join their table and the day ended up being salvageable after all. And Craig felt better for having gotten things sorted with Sarah. One less thing hanging over his head. He was definitely taking control of things and it was all starting to look so much more manageable.

They had a few drinks and Craig found himself feeling relaxed. He felt good. It had been far too long since he’d done this properly. After a while, Zak and Rhys got up to play pool and Sarah went to watch them, leaving Craig and Hannah alone at the table. Craig’s first instinct was to bring up John Paul, to angle for cute stories about him from when they were at school. He loved those stories, those little pieces of John Paul that helped make up the bigger picture. He didn’t ask though. He stayed away from the subject in the same way that he’d tried to keep John Paul from his thoughts, talking about uni and plans for the summer instead. It was somewhat freeing to not feel like he had an ulterior motive for once.

*

When he got home, Steph was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in something on the TV. Craig smiled at the sight of her.

“Hi,” he greeted.

She looked over, clearly just noticing that he’d walked in. “Oh, hiya, Craig,” she said. “Where’ve you been all day?”

“Just hangin’ out with some mates,” Craig shrugged.

“Well, before you accuse me of not duly notifying you of a letter from your _bestest_ mate, it’s on the side, came this morning,” Steph said, turning back to the TV.

Craig felt a spike of adrenaline. It was the fight or flight instinct, and he had no idea which was the smart option right now. He walked over to the counter, picking up the letter. John Paul’s handwriting and that _HM Prison Hindley_ stamp. He stared at it for a moment. Somehow it seemed unfair that he should get this letter today. He’d worked so hard to concentrate on himself for once, and now John Paul was forcing his way back into his life. He wondered what John Paul wanted. Had he seen sense? Was he fighting back against Craig’s last letter? Was he just trying to spitefully get the last word in? That was the one that worried him the most. Judging by John Paul’s state of mind in the last letter that Craig had received, it wasn’t out of the question.

He put the letter down. This wasn’t going to get him down today. He was going to have 24 hours that were focused only on good, productive things. He couldn’t be guaranteed that John Paul was either good or productive right now, so the letter would have to wait until morning. Craig refused to worry about anyone but himself today. It was about time.

“What are you watching?” he asked Steph.

“Dirty Dancing,” she replied, looking up at him.

“What, for the millionth time?” Craig teased, moving into the room and sitting down beside her.

“Aren’t you gonna open your letter?” Steph asked. “You usually run off for some private time when you get one of those.”

Craig shrugged. “It can wait.” He looked at the screen. Patrick Swayze was practicing the lift with Baby in the lake. “Shall I get some ice cream?”

Steph turned to face him, looking at him strangely. “Have you been taking oestrogen tablets?”

“What?”

“Since when do you want to watch Dirty Dancing and eat ice cream?” Steph asked.

“Never,” Craig admitted. “But it’s been a while since we’ve spent any time together, hasn’t it? I mean, you’ve been busy with your stuff and I’ve been busy with my stuff. We don’t touch base anymore. Thought maybe we should fix that.”

Steph smiled at him fondly. “Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed. “Has been a while since we’ve had some good old fashioned brother-sister bonding.”

“Yeah, well, after this we’re watching one of my films,” Craig told her, getting up to fetch the ice cream.

“Ooh, a classic 80’s kid’s film, I can hardly wait,” Steph joked.

“Hey,” Craig complained. “If I have to watch Baby not being put in a corner, it’s the least you can do.”

“Yeah, alright,” Steph agreed.

As Craig picked up the bowls of ice cream, he saw the letter from John Paul staring up at him. The temptation to just read it and get it over with, hear what he had to say, was almost too much. He chewed on his lip, remembering John Paul’s angry words when he’d found out that Craig had told Myra about Kieron, remembering his face when he’d told him about the dreams. It made something tighten in his gut.

Today wasn’t about John Paul though. Today was about Craig. So Craig walked past the letter and handed Steph her ice cream, settling down beside her to watch the worst of what the 80’s had to offer. If you believed that love was really like that, you’d believe in anything.


	22. Chapter 22

_Craig_

 _I have no idea what to preface this letter with. “I’m sorry” really doesn’t cut it at this stage, does it? And I don’t even know what I’m trying to say really. I don’t know what I’m asking for. I don’t know what I’m offering. Except for the truth. It’s probably all I have left, and so I’m offering it to you in the hopes that it’ll mean something._

 _A little over a year ago, I was convicted of murder and given a life sentence. You already know that part. The point is that my life was turned upside and I just felt so useless and worthless. I’d tried to be a hero and it hadn’t paid off. I was nothing but some stupid kid. I can see that now. I wish someone could’ve made me see it then. But that’s just putting the blame on other people again, isn’t it? I don’t want to do that anymore._

 _Then, after I’d been in prison nearly a month, someone sent me a book. The Catcher in the Rye. You know this part of the story too. But you don’t know how it made me feel. Well, at first I didn’t know what to feel to be honest. I didn’t know what it meant. I thought maybe someone was trying to tell me something. So I read the book looking for some secret message. Had I lost my innocence? Well I knew that much was true. Did I feel responsible for other people’s innocence and safety? That’s what had gotten me into this mess. Did I need sending away somewhere to “take it easy”? Probably. And then there’s that last line. The last two lines. “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” It’s such a sad message but, I don’t know, in a way it spoke to me. And I’m not saying that I shut down because I read The Catcher in the Rye. Maybe it influenced me a little though. Maybe it encouraged me to keep going down the path I was already much too far down._

 _And all of this is pointless, isn’t it? You never even read the book, did you? There was no message._

 _Okay, I’m getting off-topic here. My mind’s a bit of a mess today. I feel like this is all coming out wrong. I want to tell you everything and some of this stuff I haven’t thought about in a long time. I guess this is my James Joyce stream of consciousness style ramblings._

 _So, anyway, I got another book, and then another one. Never a note though, never any clue who they were from. But, after a while, I kind of stopped looking for ulterior motives. And I know how that must make you feel that that was my thought process to your lovely gift. I really hope that I’m not coming off as unappreciative right now, because I could not appreciate those books more. I just wasn’t in the most trusting place after a jury had taken my freedom away and the newspapers had dragged my name through the mud. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be nice to me. I came to accept that you were being nice to me though. I came to accept that you were trying to help._

 _I’ll be honest though, I never understood it. I still don’t understand it. Why were you so nice to me? Why did you think I deserved it after what I’d done? You didn’t know me. You didn’t know anything about me. And I know what you said about wanting to protect one of your own sisters, but it’s a pretty big leap from ‘I think I understand him’ to ‘I’m going to help him’. I guess I can’t see myself making that leap and I certainly can’t see why I’d be special enough to make that leap for. Thinking about it is one thing. Acting on it is something else entirely._

 _I was so touched by the fact that you were sending me those books. I was so grateful. I’ve kind of said some of this before, but I want you to understand it. You were my hero. I had no idea who you were. I didn’t know if you were male or female, old or young, if I’d ever met you or not. I had no clues, but part of me was falling for you even then. That’s how much it meant to me. Because you hadn’t given up on me or written me off. You cared. I can’t tell you how much I needed someone to just care, to make me human again and not just this monster that I felt like I could so easily become._

 _Fast forward a year, a really, really awful year. I don’t know how much I should go into that. It’s not about us, so maybe it’s not important. But I guess I’m a product of that year in a lot of ways. It hardened me. It taught me to protect myself. It taught me to never let my guard down. A couple of beatings got the point across on that one. I guess I became this kind of reduced version of myself in a lot of ways. I turned inwards._

 _Then you wrote me a note. You didn’t say much, but you told me your name. I’m glad that you did. That was how Carmel found you. I mean, if she hadn’t known that Frankie’s son was called Craig, I never would’ve been able to get in contact with you. That would have been it. One vague letter and then it would have been back to just getting the books. And I would have wondered about you every day. Wondered about this Craig who believed in me. And I think getting the books might have hurt. Or maybe I’m being melodramatic. That sounds really melodramatic, doesn’t it? But to me, it sounds true. I don’t have a lot else going on in my life but those books, so I guess the person who sent them was always going to be a big part of my life too._

 _Anyway, you know how the story goes. Carmel caught you out and you gave me your address. Thank you. Rather belated, but thank you. I will never be able to say that to you enough, no matter how all this works out. You kept this little spark going. I can’t tell you how much I needed that. So I wrote to you and I got a little carried away with myself and I asked you to come and meet me. I don’t know what made me so brave or so open. Your brave and open influence? Perhaps. But you came. We met. For better or worse, everything changed._

 _I guess this is where I tell you about the evolution of my feelings, which is the part of the letter you probably actually want to read, as oppose to all the crap I’ve been spouting so far. So here it is. First impressions._

 _I thought you were really good looking. That was my first impression. Your eyes are gorgeous and your lips are kind of pouty and, I dunno, you’re my type. You asked me that once, didn’t you? I guess that’s your answer. I was attracted to you from the first second I saw you standing there all awkward in the visiting hall. And that was something I hadn’t really felt in a long time. Attraction. And you came and sat down and you were so nervous and I made bad jokes at your expense because, well, I was nervous too. And flirting. Yeah, that was me flirting. I didn’t mean anything by it, alright, it was just like some natural reflex. I guess pretty boys have that effect on me._

 _That sounds flippant. I’m sorry. Point is, I liked you. Physically. And then we got talking and I liked your personality too. You’re just the kind of person that I would’ve been mates with, back when I had mates. I felt like we clicked. I hope it was mutual. You kept writing, kept coming back, we kept getting closer. So I guess it was mutual. I guess it was all mutual. And that’s kind of where the problem started, wasn’t it?_

 _Okay, so, I was attracted to you, we’ve established that. Maybe we need to dissect just what that means and just what my motives are so we can work out the next step, if there is a next step. And I’m making this sound like some bloody thesis or something, aren’t I? I just want to get this right. I want to make myself clear and tell you everything. I want you to understand. But this letter is already far too long and you’re probably losing the will to live right about now. Please stick with me. If you still hate me when I’m done, fine, but read this to the end. You deserve to know all of this._

 _So, sex. That’s what’s at the crux of every relationship, right? Do I sound cynical? I actually don’t mean to be. I meant it when I said I was a romantic. But romance leads to passion leads to sex. That’s kind of the natural order of things, or it should be if you’re doing it right. If it works. Thing is, when you mentioned sex, I went, well, slightly insane. I flew totally off the handle. I am rolling my eyes as I write this. At myself, my own actions. I can be a monumental idiot sometimes and I’m kind of embarrassed by how I acted that day. And I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. So, given the way that I acted when you mentioned sex it would be highly hypocritical if I myself had thought about you in a sexual way beforehand, right? Well, yes and no. Let me try and explain._

 _I don’t really have a very healthy sex drive anymore if I’m honest. I’m 19 and I haven’t had sex in over a year and I don’t really have an outlet, I don’t have the privacy to take care of things, if you follow my drift. I’m sure you do. Point is, logically, I should be gagging for it, right? Only I’m not. I don’t actually think about it that much at all. Maybe it switches off after a while when it’s not a possibility. Maybe it’s to do with depression. Depression lowers your sex drive, right? I don’t know if I’m depressed, but I’m not exactly happy. I have bigger problems than worrying about shagging. So I usually don’t worry about it._

 _But, I dunno, I guess you reawakened it a little. It was innocent at first, idle daydreaming that got away from me. And I’m still a teenager. I still needed to empty the tank occasionally. Teenage boy’s bodies do what they do. But after I met you, I needed to empty it more often. Which isn’t to say that I sat there thinking about you and having a wank, because I didn’t. Like I said above, it’s not like I really could. You have to be really careful about stuff like that in here. It’s tricky. You can’t just get the urge and go hide under your duvet. It doesn’t work like that. You need to pick your moments. And it wasn’t even a case of I thought of you and had a wank anyway. It’s just that I thought of you and I’d feel all nice and I’d smile and I’d get this feeling in my stomach. It was a crush. And that inspired my sex drive._

 _So the wanks weren’t about you but the need to wank was. And I have no idea why I’m writing this stuff to you. I am actually so embarrassed right now. I’m mortified. Just in case you were worried that I had no shame. I have plenty. But this fight was about sex, so I feel like maybe this needs tackling. I’m sorry if I’m making you cringe. I’m making myself cringe. I kind of want to just stop writing and throw it all away, but I owe you more than that. I owe you the truth. So I’m going to keep writing._

 _Yes, I thought of you in sexual situations at various points of our friendship. I had a couple of sexual fantasies about you. If that makes you feel anything like those dreams made me feel then I apologise. I can’t stop apologising. But it’s true. And it was safe. It was safe to let myself feel these things for you because I knew that you wouldn’t in a million years feel them back. You were straight. While I was feeling those things, I didn’t hope. I knew where I stood. I thought I knew where I stood. Which is why I didn’t react very well to the revelation that you suddenly and inexplicably liked me back._

 _That letter. The letter where you told me that you’d fallen for me. The bottom fell out of my world. And I’m sure that wasn’t the response you were looking for when you sent it. But I had this perfect balance with you. You were my friend, we got on really well, we had so much in common. I loved spending time with you, I loved writing to you. And you offered me this escapism. I guess that’s what it boiled down to. I could flirt with you and it didn’t mean anything. I could think about you and it didn’t mean anything. I could pretend. I was so comfortable with you and comfortable with my thoughts about you because they were just thoughts. I would never need to act on them. I’d never need to risk anything on them. I wasn’t missing out on anything._

 _When you wrote that letter, suddenly I felt like I was missing out. You opened a door. A door to this possibility that I was banking on never being presented with. Because you wanted me. And it broke my heart because I wanted you too and I knew that I was going to have to say no. I couldn’t handle trying to make something like that work. It’s too dangerous and too complicated. It terrified me. The thing about being in here is that no one can touch me. The outside world can’t touch me. I tried to turn that into a good thing, but I couldn’t keep you out. I tried to deny it, to ignore your questions, but you pushed and pushed until I had to admit that I liked you back. And then I had to crush you. And it hurt me so much. I wanted to take you. I wanted you to be mine. But I knew that there wasn’t a way to make it work. I’m sorry for all of the things I said._

 _After that, I suppose everything changed. Because we both knew, didn’t we? I don’t know how that affected you, after the secret was out, but I guess I can tell you how it affected me. I stopped thinking about you like that. Or I made a conscious effort not to have thoughts that I’d allowed to grow so naturally in my mind before. I wanted to stop feeling it. It wasn’t safe anymore. Where there’d been innocent thoughts about a friend, there was now this possibility. I didn’t know how to handle that. It was so much easier when it wasn’t real._

 _Your feelings were growing. I could tell they were growing. I could tell I was breaking your heart. It tore me up inside. I was breaking my own heart too. I kept thinking about how unfair it all was. If I was outside, if I wasn’t locked up in this place, I would’ve snapped you up in a heartbeat. You’re perfect for me. I honestly believe that. But I kept denying you and I kept shutting myself down. I kept myself out of reach. Because I can’t have a relationship like a normal person, not while I’m in here. I can’t even be gay while I’m in here, how am I supposed to have a boyfriend?_

 _But I was falling for you more all the time. Whether I wanted to or not, it didn’t matter. My thoughts were getting all mushy. I told you, I’m a romantic. And I wanted you. On every level. I wanted to hold your hand. I wanted to stare into your eyes. I wanted to kiss you. So much. I wanted everything. I even wrote you a song. Yeah, that was about you. So, you can see, I was in way over my head. You gave me butterflies. I’m not the kind of person who’s supposed to get butterflies. I’m not the kind of person who’s supposed to fall in love. Not anymore._

 _For a while I actually thought I was dealing with it. I thought that I could have these feelings and still be your friend. I thought we could flirt with each other without getting hurt. I thought it could be like our secret. And of course I knew that was never really going to work. I’m not that naive. But it was kind of a nice idea while it lasted._

 _Then you started talking about sex. It was dreams, right? You told me you were having wet dreams about me. The details have gotten a little blurred in my mind to be honest. It was just like a hot flash and then I was walking away. I didn’t want to hear it. As soon as I understood that you were talking about getting off to thoughts of me, I didn’t want to hear it. And I should have heard you out. I should have listened to what you had to say. I’m sorry that I didn’t._

 _One of the reasons that it upset me so much was that I felt like I’d found my balance again. I was happy liking my straight friend, but then my straight friend liked me back. Then I’d found a way to make that work for me too, and you go and take it to the next step. You were always taking it to the next step when I was fighting so hard to just keep things as they were. And I was angry with you. I was angry because you were taking the power away from me. I was angry that you kept messing everything up just when I’d gotten it all put into neat, tidy boxes. And I know that life doesn’t really work like that, but it’s how I cope. It’s how I’ve learned to cope._

 _Which I suppose leads us to now and why I’m writing this letter. I’m writing this letter to explain myself. I’m writing this letter because you deserve it. I’m writing this letter because we need to sort this out. And I don’t presume to have the answer as to how the hell we do that. I just know that we can’t leave things as they are. I fell for you. You fell for me. You drew me a superhero, you made me into a superhero, and that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me in my life. And I still don’t really get what I did to deserve it all. Maybe that’s the problem. But the real problem is me, isn’t it? I won’t let it happen._

 _I care about you. I care about you so much and I wish that I could be with you. I wish that I had those superhero powers that you gave me so I could get there right now and I would kiss you and hold you and show you how much you mean to me. I would. But I can’t. And so maybe I’m not worth the risk. This has to be honest. It has to be realistic. Maybe brutally so. I can write these letters, but when we’re face to face, I can’t act on any of it. Is it enough that you’ll know? Is it just going to tear us apart? I wish I had the answers._

 _Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to read this letter, all of it, at least twice. I want you to take it all in. I want you to be honest with yourself. And then I want you to take a couple of days. Think about it. Really think about it. Don’t just write me your gut reaction. We have to be grown-ups about this, even if we’re not grown-ups. We have to think of the consequences. So take your time. And if you feel like this could go anywhere, get in touch._

 _I don’t know where this whole thing between us is heading. I don’t know what the smart thing to do is anymore. But it’s there, isn’t it? This thing. I don’t think we can ignore it. Which doesn’t mean that I think we should go for it. I don’t know what I think. I guess we need to talk about this. If you’re still even remotely interested, then we need to talk about this. We need to work it out together. I don’t think either one of us has the answers on our own. I’m willing to talk it out if you are. I want to talk it out, if you do._

 _John Paul  
x_

 _P.S. I’m sending you the lyrics to my song too. The only copy that I have. It’s about you. Maybe it explains a couple of things, I’m not sure. It’s no work of art, but it’s all yours. You can take care of it for me. Or you can throw it in the bin. You can do whatever you want with it. I trust you._

*

 _I never asked, I never dreamed  
I did not hope, I did not plead  
My life was simple yesterday  
When I could look the other way  
My emptiness was locked inside  
Had found the perfect place to hide  
I never offered you a home  
But still you took me for your own_

 _You stole my plans away from..._

 _Me, myself, I stand alone  
These are my bricks, this is my wall  
There’s no one can stand next to me  
I know this isn’t meant to be  
Here in the dark, here in my head  
You made your way, you held my hand  
I feel you always here with me  
I know this isn’t meant to be  
This isn’t meant to be_

 _You drew me out, you made me see  
You were the perfect one for me  
You made me smile, you made me doubt  
That I could ever shut you out  
I tried so hard, I worked all day  
To just keep thoughts of you away  
I get so tired trying to fight  
Trying to work out wrong from right_

 _You stole my plans away from..._

 _Me, myself, I stand alone  
These are my bricks, this is my wall  
There’s no one can stand next to me  
I know this isn’t meant to be  
Here in the dark, here in my head  
You made your way, you held my hand  
I feel you always here with me  
I know this isn’t meant to be  
This isn’t meant to be_

 _Why can’t you just be here with me?_

*

Craig was crying. He didn’t know when he started crying but he was crying, silent tears falling down his face. He held the pieces of paper tightly in his hands, threatening to crumple them. It was all too much. He had no idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He thought that he’d lost John Paul, thought their only interactions had been reduced to childish bickering, and now this. John Paul had given him everything. Total honestly. Craig felt a great responsibility to do the right thing with.

He wanted to hold him so badly. It was an instinct that had been there a long time, ever since he’d first started to understand these feelings, but now it was stronger than ever. The images that John Paul had painted with his words, the things that he wanted, they were the things that Craig wanted too. The things that he craved. Those touches, those kisses, that complete togetherness. But John Paul was right, they couldn’t have it, not the way they wanted. This was always going to be about sacrifice. Craig had reconciled himself to that fact a long time ago.

He wiped away his tears and read the letter again. He tried to take it all in, tried to be objective. Just because he wanted John Paul, it didn’t mean this was going to work. It didn’t make it a good idea. But he’d never felt like this about anyone. He’d never wanted to just touch someone and be with them this much in his life. But maybe that was just because he was being denied it. There would never be any relief from this feeling. All it could do was keep growing stronger, unless he put a stop to it completely.

He sighed and put the letter down on his desk in front of him. John Paul was right. He needed to take time to think about this. He could write back now and reciprocate with almost everything that John Paul had said, but it wouldn’t really get them anywhere. This needed to be more than a gut reaction to the fact that John Paul had finally opened up and let him in. It needed to be real. Like John Paul said, they needed to be grown-ups.

He stood up, wiping at his damp eyes again before heading downstairs. Steph was making a cup of tea, the smell of it somehow comforting him.

“Morning,” she greeted, looking up at him. A flash of concern crossed her features. “Have you been crying?”

Craig shrugged. “I’m okay. Just thinking about some things.” Steph nodded but she didn’t look convinced. “Thought you were working today.”

“I am,” Steph agreed. “I’m going in a bit. Do you want a brew?”

“Please,” Craig said with a heavy sigh. He sat down at the counter, watching her.

“You gonna be around tonight?” she asked.

“Why?” Craig asked. “You want to make me watch Grease?”

“No,” Steph replied, giving him a look. “Niall wanted to take me out to dinner. I was wondering if you could watch Tom for me?”

Craig resisted the urge to start laying into Niall. He knew it wouldn’t do any good and he really wasn’t in the mood for a fight. “Special occasion?” he asked instead, trying to work out what angle Niall was playing.

“Not really,” Steph replied, handing him his tea. He took a grateful sip. “He just thought I could do with a break. I’ve been stressing over these accounts lately. I did not sign up for this.”

“What are you talking about?” Craig asked. It was clearly another thing that he’d missed while he was too wrapped up in John Paul.

“It’s no big deal,” Steph assured him. “I think I’m still adjusting. Mobs was Max’s thing. Sometimes I feel like I don’t really know what I’m doing. I mean, I can make a smoothie, but all the business side of stuff is just...” She made a gesture with her hand like it all went right over her head. “And I don’t mind being left with it,” she added quickly. “I just wish he’d had a chance to show me the ropes properly before...” She sat down heavily beside Craig.

“Listen, I can look over the accounts with you,” Craig told her. “I am doing a business degree. I’m sure we can make sense of it together.”

“Do you mind?” Steph asked hopefully. “Oh, that’d be such a help, Craig.”

“No problem,” Craig assured her. He wasn’t going to give Niall the opportunity to use it as a way to get closer to her. He could look after his own sister.

“Great,” Steph smiled. “And do you think you might be able to watch Tom for me tonight? I mean, only if you’ve got nothing on.”

Craig felt his heart sink. Of course she was still going for a meal with him. And he was hardly going to deny her a night out. He just wished she’d show some better judgement.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be around. You enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you,” Steph said, touching a hand to her chest like she was so grateful. “And is there anything I can do in return for all this kindness?” she asked. “Anything you might want to talk about.”

“Not right now,” Craig replied.

“It’s always not right now with you,” Steph said.

“Maybe soon,” Craig told her. He could feel this torment coming to an end now. Soon he and John Paul would know where they stood. They could start to move on, one way or another.

“Right, well, I suppose I better get to Mobs then,” Steph said, getting to her feet. “And just so you know, I think you’re the best little brother anyone could ask for. You tell that to whoever’s making you feel like this.”

She placed a kiss on the top of his head. Craig couldn’t help but smile.

*

Craig spent the evening playing videogames with Tom and letting him stay up past his bedtime. He liked the company and he knew that it was kind of selfish, but the distraction helped keep his mind quiet. There were too many thoughts in his head, too many possibilities, and he wasn’t brave enough to make a choice. All he could think was pros and cons and how nothing was going to be the same again.

When Tom finally went to bed, Craig found himself sat at his desk, reading over the letter again. Then he read the song. He held it in his hands and stared at it. The writing was messy and rushed and there were crossings out where he’d changed his mind over lyrics. There were a couple of doodles too, in the corners, where maybe he’d gotten bored or had lost inspiration and was trying to wheedle it back. Craig pictured him writing it. He pictured him with his guitar, letting the words pour from his heart and out of his mouth, finding the right chords to accompany them. Not that Craig had any idea what those chords might be. He tried to sing the song anyway, murmuring the words to possible tunes under his breath. He wished that he could hear John Paul sing it. He wished he didn’t have these decisions to make.

*

That was how it continued for the next couple of days. Craig tried to keep himself busy, spending time at the halls, playing games with Tom, helping Steph with the Mobs accounts, but every time he had a spare minute, he found himself with that letter, that song. He found himself with John Paul, whether they were together in body or not. There was nothing else to do. He’d followed John Paul’s wishes. He’d read the letter over and he’d let himself stew on it for a few days. It was time to start writing and see where his heart would lead him. As he put pen to paper, he still wasn’t entirely sure what was going to come out.

*

 _John Paul_

 _I can safely say I wasn’t expecting that letter. You’ve kind of made my head spin, to be honest. But I’m really glad that you sent it. Thank you. Thank you for being upfront._

 _It hurts me to see you say that you don’t think you deserved the books, don’t think you deserve me. Not that it hurts my feelings. It’s just painful to see someone so special not believe in themselves. I know what you did. I never judged you for it. Doesn’t that count for something? Can’t you trust me when I say that I like who you are? I mean, obviously you can’t. What you say about how you felt after being sent down, it breaks my heart. But I don’t believe that whatever you did you would have become a monster. You don’t have it in you. I don’t care what cruel things you’ve said to me, there’s nothing but a scared little boy in there. A scared little boy who wants to be loved. And that was what I offered you._

 _I don’t know if I can really explain why I took a chance on you though, why I didn’t condemn you like everyone else did during the trial. I just felt drawn to you. I felt like I understood. Because I honestly can’t stand the thought of anything happening to either of my sisters. I mean, Debbie lives down in London, I’ve got no chance if anything happens to here really, but I’m so protective of Steph. Maybe a little too protective. It gets on her nerves. But I just want her to be safe. And sometimes I get so angry when I think about her being threatened. I don’t know, I can’t explain it any better than that. I understood that you were protecting your family. It’s a noble thing to do, you should be celebrated for it, not condemned._

 _That’s why I sent you the books. Because, a year ago, I didn’t even have that many words to try and explain it, and I wouldn’t even have dared try. Why would you want to hear from someone like me? So I’m sorry that I held back. And, no, I’ve never read The Catcher in the Rye. I’m intrigued by those last lines though. I might have to try and give it a read._

 _So, we fell for each other. I’m going to try and keep focused here and talk about that. Even though I have no idea what I’m going to say. I’ll be honest, I don’t have a plan for this letter. I’m just going to write my thoughts and hope that it somehow turns into something coherent. Or something that resembles a decision. I don’t have one yet._

 _So, you talked about sex quite a bit, and I wanted to mention something. I wanted to tell you that I never thought about you and touched myself. Not ever. I never even had proper, fully formed sexual thoughts about you. Not when I was awake. I mean, my subconscious has a mind of its own and what you say about boys our age and their bodies, it’s very true, I can relate. But never while I was awake. And not because I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t let myself. Out of respect for you. Which is why it hurt me so much when you accused me of making things seedy. I’d tried so hard to not let that happen. I thought more of you than that._

 _And it’s funny that you mention passion as the step between romance and sex, but you’ve said yourself you don’t have any. I’ve never seen you display any. And so I can’t imagine what these sexual fantasies of yours contain. Which isn’t me asking you to tell me. I’m not fishing for wank fodder or anything. I’m really not. I just can’t imagine them as anything but tepid. Even your letter, everything you talk about, it’s so heartfelt, but where’s the passion? And I’m not having a go. It just makes me wonder. I get that there’s reasons. I know why you’re reserved, why you hold back, and I’m willing to accept it. But I want to see your passion. Like when you talked about Shawshank. You had passion for Shawshank. I want to see more of that. It would help._

 _But I’m not asking you to change and I don’t have any right to. And I don’t know where we go from here. I want you. I want all the things that we can’t have. Does that make the things that we can have worthwhile? I don’t know. Are you going to keep being open like this? Because I feel like I have you right now so much more than I ever felt like I had you before. So can you stick with me? Can you promise not to hide from me? I think that’s what I need from you to make it worth the risk. What do you need from me?_

 _And here’s something I’m adding, just because I want to tell you, and maybe it’s relevant, I don’t know. But I signed up to play football over the summer. Nothing big, just this little five-a-side thing, but I’m getting involved in things. I’m not going to waste my summer working and doing things for other people. That’s what you told me to do, right? And it feels good. I feel happier in myself. I’ve been spending time with friends. And I want you to know that it’s all your influence. You gave me confidence. And maybe you hurt me too and made me cry and broke my heart, but I grew from it all. I get the impression that you grew too. So we can leave it there and call it a lesson learnt or we can keep growing together. I think I want to keep growing. I don’t really like the idea of not having you in my life._

 _So, I think I’ve found out that I can live without you. But I’ve also found out that I don’t want to. And I guess that’s my answer. I guess I found it. There’s still a lot to talk about, but let’s talk. Let’s work at it. Let’s not give up quite yet. I get the impression that this is one of those rare things in life that’s really worth fighting for. So I’m willing to take the risk, but only if you’re willing to take it with me. I can’t do it on my own._

 _Craig  
x_


	23. Chapter 23

Craig wasn’t sure what he was expecting. They’d exchanged several letters over the past week, all of them open and vulnerable and honest, but this was different. This wasn’t them on their own with their words. In a room full of people, dangerous people, things were bound to change. Craig just wasn’t sure how much.

He stepped into the visiting hall and his eyes landed instantly on John Paul. Something about him looked different, more nervous. His hands were under the table and his shoulders were hunched slightly, like he wanted to hide. He seemed much more fragile than Craig had ever seen him before. Craig didn’t know whether to take that as a good sign or a bad one.

His stomach was in knots and his palms were sweaty and his heart was beating too fast. This was almost like the first time, except that there was so much more at stake now. He started to walk forwards and John Paul looked up as though he could sense him. Their eyes met, some instant connection formed between them that drew Craig in closer, as if he needed a reason. There was something so undeniable about it all.

“Hi,” John Paul offered as Craig sat down opposite him, an unsure little smile gracing his lips.

“Hi,” Craig returned.

He shifted slightly on his chair, looking at John Paul. Uncertainty stretched between them. Neither one knew quite how to act now they were here, and Craig could feel how precarious this all was. It was like they could make or break it with a single breath.

“I should... I should get the drinks,” Craig said, relying on routine and normality to pull him through. “You want a coffee?”

“Yeah,” John Paul replied. “Yeah, a coffee’d be great. Thank you.” Craig gave him a friendly smile, getting to him feet. “I missed you,” John Paul suddenly blurted out.

Craig stalled, looking down at him. Something flipped over in his stomach, in his heart, to hear those words. And it wasn’t just the words themselves, it was the way they were said. There was no finesse, no careful delivery, none of the things that John Paul usually used to guard himself. He was handing Craig something honest and real. Craig was so touched that he could barely find the words to respond.

“Me too,” he finally said. John Paul nodded. Craig gestured towards the vending machines before heading on his way.

He stood at the machine, feeding in his money and punching in the now familiar numbers, and he felt a swell of something like... pride. He thought it was pride. Pride in John Paul for trying to change. Pride in himself for maybe having been good for him all along. And he knew that he was pinning an awful lot of hope on one tiny gesture, but he felt like he had enough perspective now to do so. He’d learnt a lot about John Paul in this last week, and while he wasn’t willing to forget the risks that they were taking, he knew that they were in a better position to make this work than they ever had been before.

He sat back down, sliding John Paul’s drink over to him. As John Paul went to take it from him, their fingers brushed together, and Craig couldn’t help but feel that it was somehow deliberate. John Paul gave him a smile, one that still looked so shy, and then he took the cup, sipping some of his coffee.

“Thank you.”

Craig gave a shrug. He touched his fingers where John Paul had touched them, not realising what he was doing until he was gazing down at his hand. He felt embarrassed that such a tiny, almost accidental touch could have such a huge effect on him. He placed his palms flat on the table, trying to catch a hold of himself.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” John Paul asked.

Craig looked up at him. John Paul had his own hands tucked under the table again, in his lap, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, but he was leaning forward, making an effort to bridge the gap.

“What are you thinking?” Craig asked.

“I’m thinking that this is really awkward and I totally don’t know what to do with myself right now,” John Paul said.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Yeah, that was pretty much what I was thinking.” The two of them shared tentative smiles.

“I’m really glad that you’re here,” John Paul told him. “I really did miss you. Loads. And I know how bad I messed up. And I’m sorry that I can’t... well, y’know.”

“We don’t need to talk about it here,” Craig assured him. “You told me everything. It’s gonna be okay.”

John Paul looked up at him, this hope shining in his eyes that Craig had never seen before, and while it warmed him, it also made him ache. Because Craig didn’t know where that promise had just come from. He had no idea if any of this was going to be alright. He wasn’t even sure at this point how successfully they were going to fumble their way through this visit. But John Paul seemed to take heart in his words and Craig hoped that it wouldn’t come back to haunt them both.

“So, what have you been up to lately?” John Paul asked, clearly trying to get them back onto familiar footing.

“Well, I’ve had footie practice,” Craig said. “I mean, it’s all just for a laugh, it’s not like it’s a proper league or anything. But it’s fun. I’m glad I got back into it. Nice to have a footie kit on again. I’d kind of forgotten how much I missed it.”

John Paul smiled at him. “How’s that bruise of yours?” he asked. “Was just thinking about it. With the shorts.”

“You were thinking about me in shorts?” Craig teased.

John Paul gave him a look, but the answer was obvious. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes flicking around slightly, and then he lifted his hands up and put them on the table, leaning forward properly so that they were practically touching.

“Do you wanna know something?”

“Go on,” Craig encouraged.

“I kind of have this thing for... I mean, footie kits...” He looked down, clearly embarrassed, trying to find a way to explain what he meant without risking saying it in this room full of people. “Footballers were the first people that I really... Cos I watched football, so they were the blokes that...”

“I like gym skirts,” Craig cut in, saving him. “Cos, y’know, the girls used to wear them in PE, get their legs out. Kind of have a bit of a residual thing for them.”

“Right,” John Paul agreed. “Gym skirts. That’s what I was trying to say.”

Craig nodded, giving him a smile. “My leg’s fine,” he said. “Much better.”

“Good,” John Paul replied. “Wouldn’t want you being maimed on my account or anything.”

“You didn’t cause any permanent damage,” Craig assured him. “I’m still fully capable of running around in shorts.”

John Paul smiled at him, giving him a look that was clearly more than a little flirtatious. “Well, that’s definitely good to know.”

“Yeah, shorts and shinpads,” Craig carried on. “Football boots. Getting all sweaty.”

“You’re just being mean now,” John Paul told him, but he still looked very interested.

“Thought you wanted to hear what I’d been up to?” Craig said innocently.

“Write it in a letter, I’ll read it when I’m bored,” John Paul replied. Craig gave a breathless little laugh, ducking his head slightly. John Paul looked annoyed with himself. “Shit, I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

“It’s fine,” Craig assured him, shaking his head.

John Paul gave a sigh of frustration. “I’m trying to find a balance here, because I know that I owe you. And I want to...”

“I know,” Craig told him. “I read that letter like a million times. I know what you want to.”

John Paul smiled at that. There was something softer about him, something almost affectionate. Craig could see that hope in his eyes again, and it gave him hope too. Because something had changed. He didn’t need the words that John Paul was struggling for because he could just tell.

“I’m just trying to do something right,” John Paul said. “For the first time in my life. As right as I can do this.

They looked at each other and Craig could see it all, everything that had been written in those letters here on display now. Everything that John Paul had kept so tightly locked away from him.

John Paul looked down at the table and Craig followed his gaze. Their hands were both laid on the surface, their fingers less than an inch apart, but they weren’t touching. Craig found that his fingers practically itched to close the distance, to just connect. Judging by the look on John Paul’s face, he wanted that too. But it was one of the things that they couldn’t have. Craig was reminded of John Paul’s question. Was it enough for them both to know? He found that he was no closer to an answer now than he was back then.

“I got it,” John Paul said, his voice quiet and something like conspiratorial. Craig couldn’t quite read that look in his eye.

John Paul shifted his chair forward and then stretched out his right leg to lay in between Craig’s feet. Then he hooked his foot around Craig’s right ankle. To anyone else, he was just stretching his leg in the cramped conditions, but to them, it was like their own little version of holding hands. Craig didn’t think he’d ever been so touched by anything in his life.

John Paul’s foot stayed there for the rest of the visit as they talked about footie and college and family and friends, the easy conversation of best friends flowing between them. It felt so comfortable and Craig could almost forget that they weren’t alone. And he was so grateful that the friendship was still there, the reason that he’d come to enjoy John Paul’s company so much in the first place before everything else had happened. He was a good mate. They clicked. And they were still good mates as they sat there across from each other, but they were more than good mates too. They flirted a little and shared meaningful looks and sustained that secret touch between them, even if it was just John Paul’s trainer resting against Craig’s sock.

“It’s nearly time,” John Paul said regrettably, his foot moving slightly against Craig’s ankle. It sent a wonderful little sensation right up Craig’s calf and into his thigh, maybe even higher.

“Two hours is not long enough,” he complained.

“I know,” John Paul agreed. He moved his foot again and this time Craig definitely felt it higher than his thigh. He fought to keep his mind out of the gutter. “I can call you though. Then we can talk some more. And there’s letters. They’re slow but you can say more.” The tone of his voice made it sound like he was well aware he was offering Craig the consolation prize, and Craig just wanted to hold him and reassure him. He wanted so many things. “Listen, actually, I kind of had a favour to ask,” John Paul said hesitantly. “Well, I dunno, kind of a favour.”

“What is it?” Craig asked, wondering at the sliver of excitement he felt at the prospect of helping John Paul out.

“It’s just, I finished my book,” John Paul said. “A while ago. And, I mean...”

“Shit,” Craig said quickly. “I totally forgot. With everything. You must’ve finished it ages ago.”

“It’s okay,” John Paul assured him. “I’ve been reading a couple of old ones. There’s some I wanted to revisit. So it’s no big deal. I mean, you don’t have to send me them anymore.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, John Paul,” Craig assured him. “There was just a lot going on. Kind of slipped my mind.”

“I know,” John Paul said. “I just mean, you don’t have to do it anymore if you don’t want. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. I don’t want you to feel like I’m just after the books, like our friendship relies on it or something. I think we’re past that point.”

“Yeah, we are,” Craig agreed. “So I’ll go into town when I get back today and I’ll get you one. I can stick it straight in the post.”

“It’s just I was thinking about it,” John Paul continued, like Craig hadn’t just solved the issue. “And, I mean, I know you’re a student. And you have Steph and Tom to worry about. So you probably don’t have that much cash lying around. I get that maybe you can’t afford it.”

“I just said I’d go buy you one,” Craig repeated. “I’m still living above the breadline, I’m sure we’ll all survive.”

“Yeah, I know, but...”

“John Paul,” Craig said firmly, demanding his attention. John Paul looked at him somewhat sheepishly. “You’re so embarrassed by needing anything, aren’t you? It’s just a book. Pull yourself together, mate.”

John Paul smiled. He seemed amused and maybe a tiny bit more at ease. “Okay,” he said. “I just hate the whole being a burden thing.”

“You’re not a burden,” Craig told him. “If you were, I would’ve run away when you gave me the chance. But I didn’t. I’m here. So just trust me. I’m gonna send you a book because I _want_ to send you a book.”

John Paul nodded. “Okay.” He looked around. People were starting to leave. Their time was up. “I’m gonna call you.”

“I’d like that,” Craig agreed.

John Paul’s foot slid away from his ankle. The loss of connection made something sink in Craig’s gut. He had to say goodbye. He had to send John Paul back to that cell, knowing what he went through when he was in there. It had never been this hard to walk away before.

As he got to his feet, John Paul got to his feet too. Craig felt some flutter of gratitude and acceptance. He didn’t even need to ask. John Paul stepped around the table and Craig stepped up to meet him, the two of them wrapping one another in a mutual hug. And there was the matey slaps on the back and they couldn’t let it last very long, but there was so much behind it. Craig knew what it meant to both of them, what it represented.

He breathed in John Paul’s scent, the one he’d been without for so long. He did it with the intention of committing it to memory, but as he inhaled, he realised that it was already there. He smelt exactly the same way now as he had the first time, as he had in Craig’s head, as he had in those dreams. And Craig’s body stirred, his whole being swayed ever so slightly forward, and Craig just felt intoxicated by it all. The need to simply devour John Paul was almost too much. He had no idea how he was going to sleep tonight with this running through his brain.

They stepped apart. A lingering look was shared between them and Craig felt that ache again, that ache that he thought was probably going to become a part of him if they were really going to do this. It seemed like a small price to pay. If you lived with something long enough, it stopped being a discomfort. It simply became a way of life. He’d thought about this long and hard and he was willing to accept that.

“So,” John Paul said. They both knew what came next, whether they liked it or not.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “I better get to that bookshop.”

John Paul smiled, seeming amused. “Thank you.”

Craig nodded. John Paul licked his lips and Craig watched the movement, mesmerised by it. He wondered what he tasted like. He wondered if boys tasted different to girls, somehow less pleasant. It seemed likely. But he couldn’t imagine John Paul tasting anything but wonderful.

“Right,” John Paul said, breaking him out of his daydream. Craig looked up and met his eyes again. “You better go before they throw you out.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, throwing a glance around. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll write or...”

“I’ll call,” John Paul told him. “In a couple of days or whenever.”

“Right, yeah, cool,” Craig said. “Sounds good.” He hesitated a moment more, shifting on his feet. “See ya then.”

“Yeah,” John Paul returned. “See ya.”

Craig nodded. One more look and then they were walking away from one another.

On the train ride back, Craig felt kind of fuzzy and mellow and buzzed all at once. He recognised it as the first rushes of what he’d always assumed to be love. That had never spanned out for him before though. Natalie, Darlene, both had broken his heart, and wilfully at that. His heart wasn’t telling him to be wary now though. His head knew the risks, and he never stopped reminding himself of them, but these were new risks. He wasn’t in danger of being used here, being a mug, a victim of unrequited love. He could tell by the look on John Paul’s face that wasn’t true. The risks came from their situation, and Craig had walked into it with his eyes open, so he knew he had no right to complain.

*

When Craig got home, Steph was sitting on the sofa, her sewing kit emptied out around her. He imagined her to be doing alterations on dancing outfits, but when he got closer, he saw she had a pair of Tom’s jeans in her lap.

“Hiya,” she greeted as he closed the door behind himself.

“Hi,” he returned. He found himself a space on the sofa between Steph’s scraps of material and random sequins. “Doing some trendy customising?” he asked.

“No,” Steph replied. “Tom fell off the climbing frame in the park and ripped his jeans. His best jeans. So I’m trying to patch them up, see if I can save them.”

“Poor Tom,” Craig quipped.

“Shut up, you,” Steph said playfully. “You look like you’re in a better mood, anyway.”

“Yeah, I am,” Craig smiled, maybe a little smugly.

Steph raised her eyebrows and turned her attention back to her sewing. Craig could feel it all welling up inside him, that giddiness, that mushiness, that romanticism. He’d been hiding things from Steph for so long, keeping her at arm’s length when he should have been letting her in, and now it was like he could feel the surge of water pushing at the floodgates. They wanted to open.

“I have a boyfriend,” he blurted out.

Steph looked up at him, pricking herself in the finger with a needle in the process. “Ow,” she complained, rubbing at her finger and turning her attention back to Craig. “A boyfriend?”

Craig nodded. “Yeah.”

Steph stared at him for a moment. “Would this have anything to do with a certain infamous John Paul McQueen, by any chance?”

“It has everything to do with him,” Craig confirmed. He couldn’t help but smile. “He’s really great, Steph. You’d love him.”

Steph nodded. She still seemed to be trying to take it all in. “So, how long have you been gay?”

“I’m not gay,” Craig dismissed.

“Craig, straight blokes usually have girlfriends, not boyfriends,” Steph stated.

“Yeah, I know, but... It’s just him. It really is just him. He’s amazing. And he makes me feel... I’ve never felt this way about anyone. This connection that we have, it’s so strong, it’s...” He shook his head, struggling for the words. He had no idea how to do this justice. “I fell in love with him.”

Steph looked concerned. Craig had kind of expected that, but it still hurt a little.

“You need to be careful,” Steph warned him. “I don’t know him and I don’t know what he’s like and if he makes you this happy then I think he must be a decent bloke. But he’s in prison for murder, Craig. That doesn’t really sound like the beginning of a love story to me.”

“I know,” Craig agreed. “But I’ve thought about this a lot, trust me. I’ve looked at it from every angle. And I want him in my life. So we’re gonna see where it goes. It’s still new and we’re still ironing out the creases, but... I think if you want something badly enough, there’s got to be a way.”

Steph nodded. She looked down at her lap, sadness pulling at her features. “I used to think that. Look how my fairytale ended.”

“But would you give it back?” Craig asked. “Would you give back all of the happiness you had with Max if it meant you’d get rid of the pain as well.”

Steph looked up at him, giving him a little smile of acceptance. “Not for everything in the world.”

Craig smiled back. “Me neither.”

“Alright,” Steph said, clearly moving on as she lifted up Tom’s jeans, displaying them to Craig. There was a patch of swirly blue material over one of the knees. “What do you think?”

Craig pulled a face. “I think throw them out and buy a new pair.”

Steph pouted, looking at them. “Is it that bad?”

“Unless you hate him, you can’t make him wear those, Steph,” Craig told her.

Steph sighed, dropping the jeans back into her lap. “But he keeps growing, I’m always having to buy him stuff. I’m not made of money.”

“You’re getting by alright,” Craig said. “You’re not growing anymore, maybe you should stop buying clothes for yourself.”

Steph gave him a look. “Maybe you should stop buying books,” she countered, nodding at the Waterstones bag sat in his lap.

“It’s for John Paul,” Craig said, as though that made it completely justified.

“John Paul who makes you happy?” Steph asked.

Craig nodded. “Yeah.”

Steph gave him a smile. “Good for John Paul.”

Craig looked at her knowingly. “You’re dying to add a warning on there, aren’t you?”

“Says you,” Steph replied. “How many times are you going to tell me Niall’s bad for me?”

“But...” Craig stopped himself, knowing he was being baited “Fine. I have to send this book anyway. Throw those jeans out before Tom sees them.” He got to his feet, heading for the stairs.

“You tell him he’s got me to answer to if he tries any funny business,” Steph called.

“Yeah, you tell Niall the same thing,” Craig replied, making his way up the stairs.


	24. Chapter 24

“I just ran out on a family game of Buckaroo for you,” Craig said with a smile as he settled himself back on the bed, adjusting his hold on the phone.

“Craig, you shouldn’t do things like that,” John Paul admonished, disapproval obvious in his voice. “If it’s a bad time I can call back later.”

“No, don’t go,” Craig told him. “Stay.”

There was a moment’s hesitation from John Paul, like he was thinking about it, or like maybe Craig was coming on too strong. “Okay,” he finally said.

“There’s only so much Buckaroo I can take anyway,” Craig assured him. “Steph squeals too much.”

“I just don’t want to get in the way,” John Paul stated. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are we having two different conversations here?” Craig asked.

There was another pause and then a breath of laughter. “Our Carmel always used to squeal when we played Buckaroo,” John Paul said. “That was why we made her play it. Like how we used to make Mercy play Hungry Hungry Hippos because the hippos freaked her out or we’d make Michaela play Go Fish because for some reason she could never quite grasp what she was supposed to be doing. We were horrible to each other like that.”

“I think all siblings are horrible to each other,” Craig replied. “I think that’s the point of siblings, isn’t it?”

John Paul gave a small laugh and it made Craig smile to hear it. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Anyway,” Craig said, “Steph doesn’t mind. She gets it. I told her about us.”

“You did?” John Paul asked.

“Yeah.” He hesitated slightly. “Is that okay? That I told her?”

“Yeah, course,” John Paul replied, sounding a little thrown. “So, what did you say to her?”

“I...” Craig stopped and took a breath. He could feel himself blushing. “I told her you were my, erm, boyfriend.”

He waited. He wasn’t quite sure what kind of a reaction he was expecting, but he was still a little nervous about things like this, things that took them firmly over that friendship line. Part of him still expected John Paul to shut down on him, to hide. He couldn’t quite deny how scary this was for him too, this uncharted territory. There was still so much that was unknown between them.

“You used that word?” John Paul asked. He didn’t sound upset about it, but he didn’t sound overjoyed either. He sounded kind of thoughtful.

“Do you mind me using that word?” Craig asked. “I mean, should I not?”

“It’s got nothing to do with me,” John Paul replied. “You can call it whatever you like.” The words sounded almost flippant, but Craig understood them as words spoken to mask the conversation on John Paul’s side of the phone. The emotion in his voice was clear. “It’s just, it sounds kind of, I dunno, exclusive.”

Craig snorted a laugh. He couldn’t stop himself. “Do you have another boyfriend in there or something?”

“No,” John Paul responded, something almost sulky in his voice that Craig couldn’t help but find incredibly endearing. It was just so youthful, so reminiscent of someone with much simpler problems. “But you could have.”

“One boyfriend in prison is enough for me right now, thanks,” Craig replied.

John Paul sighed, heavy and burdened. “You know what I mean, Craig.”

“Yeah, I do,” Craig agreed. “And I’m kind of offended by the sentiment so I’m glossing over it, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s not offensive, Craig, it’s... it’s common sense,” John Paul reasoned.

Craig could feel emotions twisting around inside him, emotions that he couldn’t quite give names to. He hated the implications of what John Paul was saying, but he tried to stop himself from getting wound up. “Are you saying I should date other people?”

“No,” John Paul replied with something like thoughtless honesty before sighing in frustration. “I dunno. I just think you should keep your options open. I mean you’re, what, twenty years old?”

“I know what I signed up for, John Paul,” Craig told him, trying to keep his voice level, trying to understand where John Paul was coming from.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. There was definite regret in the way he said that one, tiny word.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Craig said.

“If you’re waiting on me, you’re going to be waiting a long time, that’s all I’m saying,” John Paul stated.

“You gave me a chance to make my choice,” Craig said. “I made it. Can we just talk about something else?”

John Paul sighed again. Craig yearned to reach out to him, wrap his arms around him. His eyes slid closed.

“I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back,” John Paul said. Craig felt like he could have cried at the broken sound of John Paul’s voice, so much sadness and guilt.

“You’re not the thing holding me back, I’m not _being_ held back,” he insisted. “You’re the thing pushing me forward. You really think I’d be playing football and going for pints with mates and making the most of things if it wasn’t for you? I wouldn’t. I’d still be in my rut. I’d be miserable and unfulfilled and completely unmotivated to do anything about it. You changed my life, John Paul. I couldn’t have done any of it without you. Well, I suppose I could, but I wouldn’t have done. Which I guess is the point. You just showed me these choices. You’re like my enabler. You make me do things for myself.”

“That’s all very philosophical, Craig,” John Paul said. He sounded downbeat, completely at odds with what Craig was telling him. He was clearly still preoccupied with his doubts, the ones fuelling this conversation that Craig didn’t want to be having.

“It’s not philosophical,” Craig told him “I’m far too shallow to be philosophical.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” John Paul dismissed.

“It’s just honesty,” Craig shrugged. He shifted slightly on the bed.

“I wanna address this,” John Paul said.

“Okay,” Craig agreed.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, the sight of white emulsion in the fading light somehow grounding him. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it, in fact he was pretty certain that he didn’t, but there was no use in either of them hiding anymore. They’d agreed to face this head on and not take the easy way out. It was what they’d have to do if they had any intention of making this work. Craig had every intention of making it work.

“The thing is...” John Paul began. “I mean, it’s... I, I just...”

Craig could feel the frustration in his stammered words, could imagine John Paul feeling useless, feeling like things were out of his grasp. John Paul hated not being able to be articulate and he hated the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped, being stifled. That was why he hated the thought of stifling other people. It was one of the many things that Craig had come to understand about him recently, one of the many things John Paul had let him understand.

“It’s okay,” Craig soothed. “Take your time. Work it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

He listened as John Paul took measured breaths, obviously trying to calm himself, trying to get his head straight. The sound of him breathing made Craig relax too, made him feel connected in a way that the words somehow couldn’t. Breathing was so vital, so necessary, and John Paul was giving his breaths to Craig, sending them down the phone to him, sharing them. He imagined John Paul’s chest moving in and out with the motion and he started to feel a little warmer.

“There’s things I can’t give you,” John Paul said. His voice was quieter and his tone was almost grave. “I know you know that. But do you really get it?”

Craig felt a sinking feeling. He didn’t want to say it, but one of them had to, and it had to be him. “You’re talking about sex, right?” he stated, trying not to dress it up as anything it wasn’t. “I can live without it. Trust me, I’ve been living without it for a while now.”

“Craig, this is serious,” John Paul complained.

“I know,” Craig said. “I took it very seriously when I decided to give this a go. You don’t need to question me. I get it. I’m cool with it.”

“We’re not talking like six months or something here,” John Paul told him. “We’re talking long term. _Serious_ long term. And you say that you’re okay with it today, but...”

He trailed off. The end of that sentence was too painful, for both of them. Craig had been trying very hard not to think about it ever since he’d first started falling for John Paul. Because it wasn’t really going to get any better than this. It was like he was signing himself up to half a life, half a relationship, half a heart. He hated to think of it in those terms, but it was true. No matter how much John Paul might want to give him everything, he couldn’t. And today Craig could cope with that. He knew that five years down the line was a different story though, and that was just the start. He’d never be certain how long he could keep this up.

“I want you to know that I wouldn’t hold it against you,” John Paul said.

“John Paul, don’t,” Craig told him. It hurt to think about. It wasn’t even plausible. What kind of a person would accept that Craig had a boyfriend in prison, that they’d always be second best to him, because Craig was sure that they would be. No one would want to walk into a situation like that. No one but a casual shag. Casual wasn’t really in Craig’s nature.

“Alright, I’m shutting up about it,” John Paul agreed. “It’s just... I know that this whole thing, it’s a big ask.”

“You didn’t ask,” Craig pointed out. “You never asked.” The words weren’t said with bitterness, but Craig would be lying if he said they didn’t sting a little. John Paul never asked. Even after spilling his heart, he never asked. Craig wasn’t sure which part of that upset him more, the fact that John Paul left it up to Craig to make the first move or the fact that he didn’t have enough self-confidence to suppose that Craig would want him.

“Look, just... if you’re sticking with this exclusive thing,” John Paul said, “You need to make sure that you’re... looking after yourself. Taking care of yourself.”

Craig felt an undeniable flush of arousal sweep over him. He sucked in a breath, holding it as though more than just air would escape him when he started to breathe again. He closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the way his skin seemed to be coming alive, the way his body seemed so much more aware, the way he itched to move, to do something, to act.

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this,” John Paul muttered, almost to himself. “Look, I... I wish I could just fucking talk to you.”

“I know,” Craig empathised. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. They were talking about Buckaroo and tormenting sisters a minute ago. Now Craig was a breath away from having a hard on and he was aching from the hopeless distance between them.

“I guess I’m trying to say that I’m okay with that,” John Paul went on. “Because I wasn’t entirely okay with it before. And you said that you hadn’t done anything because of that. So it’s okay. Don’t hold back on my account. From any of it.”

Craig squeezed his eyes shut tighter. John Paul giving him permission, giving his blessing like that, it had inadvertently opened the floodgates and Craig’s mind conjured images that made him blush. Because it seemed that John Paul wanted him to do this, and somehow that seemed like the hottest thing in the world. It was all he could do to stop himself doing it right this second. He was half-hard, he could feel it, even as he tried his best to not let it be acknowledged. He bit down on his lip. Blood throbbed between his legs. His hips shifted restlessly before he forced himself to be still again.

“I just worry about you,” John Paul said. The caring in his voice made him even more attractive. “You don’t have my issues, so it’s probably not the same for you. You’re all young and healthy and... active. You should be active.”

“Okay, seriously, can we please talk about something else?” Craig rushed out. “Because you’re getting me kind of... worked up here.”

He didn’t expect his voice to come out quite as breathless as it did. There was silence on the other end of the phone and Craig thought he’d blown it. John Paul really didn’t need to know that. Craig had probably just mortified him and made this whole conversation too awkward to even continue. He kind of wished they could just start the whole thing again from the beginning, because this wasn’t going well at all.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” John Paul dismissed. “Honestly, no, it’s... We should talk about something else.”

“Yes,” Craig agreed a little too enthusiastically.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” John Paul requested. “Tell me about your football.”

Craig gave a small laugh. “Won’t that just get _you_ worked up,” he teased.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” John Paul replied.

Craig wasn’t sure what to make of that comment. It was flippant, but affectionately so. It was flirty and relaxed. He liked it.

“I have a game on Saturday,” he told him. “So think of me.”

“Trust me, I will,” John Paul replied. Craig laughed.

“Probably be putting in some extra practice this week,” he continued. “Gettin’ the footie kit on. Runnin’ around. It’s getting warm too, the weather, hot, so it’ll probably be sweaty work.”

He paused, rested back on his bed, and his mind wandered. He pictured John Paul in a prison corridor. He imagined hard concrete in contrast to his own soft pillows. And it was heartbreaking if he lingered on it too long. So he didn’t. It wasn’t quite denial, he just took a different part of what they had, the part that made him warm, the part that made him smile, the part that was undeniably smitten, and he clung to it.

“John Paul,” he said softly.

“Yeah?” John Paul replied.

Craig held the phone a little closer to him. He inclined his head towards it like he was leaning in to be nearer to John Paul. His body was still gently thrumming like a plucked guitar string, his dick not entirely at ease again yet. It was kind of like nothing he’d ever felt, this mixture of desire and craving and affection and what had to be love. Nothing else could be this intense. There were sensations running through him that he couldn’t even describe.

“I’m absolutely crazy about you,” Craig said.

“The feeling’s mutual,” John Paul replied. Craig thought he could hear him shifting around slightly. He wondered what he was doing, wondered if he was checking if anyone was nearby, or if he was simply preoccupied with getting more comfortable.

“Yeah, but you don’t understand, man,” Craig told him. He wasn’t dismissing John Paul’s feelings, more his own inability to explain what was going on inside him. “I thought I’d been in love,” he said. “Before. With other people. Now I’m not so sure. Well, I wasn’t so sure then either, to be honest. But none of it was ever like this.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” John Paul agreed dryly. There was a slight pause. “But I know what you mean,” he agreed. “Totally.”

“Right,” Craig said. He felt a little lightheaded. He tried not to doubt his interpretation of the conversation. “So, listen, did you just call to make my head hurt with all this deep and meaningful stuff? I mean, I know it probably needed saying, but where’s my best mate gone? He wouldn’t talk about stuff like this.”

“He wasn’t talking about stuff like this,” John Paul responded. “He was talking about football. You’re the one who took it into ‘I love you’ territory.”

The comment clearly stunned them both. Craig found himself reeling from just how much John Paul had clearly let his guard down. He hadn’t even realised what he’d said until the words were out of his mouth. His way of thinking things carefully through before saying them was clearly falling by the wayside. And it wasn’t even the fact that he’d said those three words to Craig, it was the fact that anyone else could’ve heard them too. It terrified and excited Craig all at once.

“You should be talking about this shit with your girlfriend, not me,” John Paul said, covering for himself in the event that anyone had overheard.

“I don’t think she’d want to know how I feel about you,” Craig dismissed with a smile, proud of the way John Paul could think on his feet. “Oh, hey,” he said suddenly. “Did you get the book yet? I sent you one on Saturday.”

“Yeah,” John Paul said, his voice brighter all of a sudden. “Yeah, sorry, man, got it this morning. I was gonna mention it. Thank you. Really. It looks like a good one. I’m gonna start it when I get back to my cell.”

“Cool,” Craig smiled. “Hey, so, what’s your favourite book?”

“You really think I’m suddenly gonna tell you?” John Paul asked, his own smile evident in his voice.

“Things seem to be catching you off guard today, I thought it was worth a shot,” Craig shrugged.

“Fuck off,” John Paul said affectionately. Craig could hear him scratch at the side of his face and it seemed strangely intimate. “You got plans for tonight, then?” he asked. “Besides Buckaroo.”

“Not tonight,” Craig replied. “I’m going for a drink with Hannah tomorrow. After football practice. Got some plans with uni mates later in the week. And I said I’d go take Tom to see a movie after school on Friday.”

“Won’t be as good as all that eighties shit,” John Paul said, clearly baiting him.

“It’s true, alright, the eighties were a classic film making decade,” Craig insisted.

“You need to branch out a little,” John Paul told.

“Hey, I watched Shawshank,” Craig defended. “Recommend another, I’ll watch that too. You can educate me.”

“It’s no use asking me, I never got control of the TV in our house,” John Paul responded. “Have you ever seen Apocalypse Now?”

“Isn’t that older than The Goonies?” Craig asked reluctantly.

“Watch it,” John Paul insisted. “Seriously, it’s an amazing film, you need to see it. It’ll give you chills.”

“Yeah, alright,” Craig agreed. “I’ll give it a go. But you can’t make fun of me for liking old films if you like that.”

“I can make fun of you for whatever I want,” John Paul responded, a teasing tone in his voice that let Craig know he was definitely flirting. It made him smile and gave him that fluttery feeling in his stomach.

“I’m just surprised you didn’t recommend Brokeback Mountain,” Craig replied.

“That’s good actually,” John Paul said seriously. “You should watch it.”

“Knew you’d say that,” Craig said. “You’ve got the poster up in your room and everything. Isn’t that a bit of a cliché?”

“You’ve been in my room?” John Paul asked, seeming genuinely taken aback and maybe a little uncomfortable with the idea.

“Well, I mean, it’s Michaela’s room now, kind of, and she...”

“Oh, so you’ve been in my little sister’s room?” John Paul asked, that warning big brother tone in his voice.

“Not like that,” Craig insisted. “It was... God, I wouldn’t be interested in her. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with her,” he added quickly. “Shit, she’s just not my type.”

“Craig, will you relax, I’m kidding,” John Paul stated, giving a little chuckle. “You’re so easy to wind up.” Craig rolled his eyes, but the sound of John Paul being happy made him giddy. He’d gladly give anything to hear more of that laughter. “Just didn’t know you’d been in my room. It’s kind of weird. I don’t even know what it’s like now. Bet Michaela’s painted it pink or something.”

“No,” Craig said. “It still has all your posters up.”

There was a pause and Craig wondered what John Paul was thinking about. “She’s so soft,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine you in my room. I don’t know what I think about that.”

“Are you mad?” Craig asked. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for putting his foot in it, so he wouldn’t be surprised.

“No, I’m not mad,” John Paul replied honestly. “It’s just weird. That you’ve seen my stuff. I dunno, whatever.” He took a breath. “Hey, you should raid my dvd collection,” he said. “I promise you it’s better than the stuff you’ve got.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Craig asked.

“You can borrow my stuff,” John Paul told him. “It’s not like I’ll be using any of it.”

Craig felt that feeling again, that rush of giddiness and endorphins and togetherness. It was the kind of things that couples did, borrowing each other’s things. And Craig knew that he should be more focused on the second part of that sentence, the fact that those things were all but useless to John Paul in his current situation anyway, but the fact that he was trusting his stuff to Craig made him feel somehow special. He liked the idea of having John Paul’s things.

“So I can go to your house and get your Brokeback Mountain dvd?” Craig asked.

“Yeah, go for it,” John Paul replied. “And you’ll have to let me know what you think of it.”

“I can tell you what I think of it now,” Craig responded. “It’s gay.”

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. “That’s why I thought you might like it.”

“Ha ha,” Craig said dryly.

“Anyway, look, I better go,” John Paul said. “I’m gonna run out of credit and my mum will not be happy. But I’ll ring you on Sunday, yeah? See how the game went.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Craig replied, smiling to himself again. “I’ll give you a play by play if you want.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” John Paul said. “But for now, I have my new book to read, so I’m gonna go make a start on it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Craig agreed. “I’ll talk to you on Sunday then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” John Paul replied. “Good luck with the game, man. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“I’m still a little rusty, to be honest, but I think I’ll be okay,” Craig said. “I’m looking forward to it actually.”

“Cool,” John Paul said, a smile in his voice. “Now get yourself back to that family game of Buckaroo before it’s too late.”

“Alright,” Craig agreed. “It was really nice to speak to you though. Are you sure you don’t just want to stay on the phone and talk to me until I fall asleep?”

“That sounds kind of great, actually,” John Paul said. “But, no, I think I better go.”

“I’m halfway there,” Craig said, settling down against his pillows.

“Am I boring you?” John Paul asked with mock indignation.

“Totally,” Craig responded.

“Well, you’re off the hook, I’m going,” John Paul told him. Craig made a disappointed noise. “Yeah, I know, but I really can’t stand here all night. We’ll catch up on Sunday though. If you’re not too hung over after celebrating your win.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Craig replied. “I’ll let you go though. Thanks for calling.”

“You’re gonna be hearing from me so much soon that you’ll be sick of me,” John Paul assured him.

Craig smiled, a pleasant sensation running through his body. “Not possible.”

“We’ll see,” John Paul said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, bye,” Craig agreed.

“Bye,” John Paul returned. “And take care of yourself.”

A throb of arousal went through Craig’s body, his dick half-hard again after he’d just managed to get himself calmed down. He opened his mouth to respond, but John Paul had put the phone down, clearly determined to leave him with that final thought. He sighed, hanging up himself and putting the phone by the side of the bed.

He curled up on his side, getting himself comfortable against the pillows. He felt pleasantly turned on and kind of loved up. It would be very easy to just reach down right now and touch himself, work himself up, get himself off. The timing didn’t seem quite right though. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take that step yet. Instead, he let his mind wander, conjuring images of all the things he longed for.

He thought about kisses first, sweet kisses, chaste kisses, lingering kisses that said so many things that Craig didn’t know how to express. He thought about parting lips, swipes of tongue. He thought about all consuming kisses, devouring one another, everything hot and wet and delicious until neither of them could breathe.

Craig shifted restlessly. His dick was getting harder, his whole body getting hotter. The sun was close to setting and the room was slowly darkening. Craig didn’t reach for the light though. Instead, he closed his eyes, and tried to capture some uninhibited state between dreaming and waking.

Touch came immediately to mind, warm flesh under his fingertips. John Paul’s skin looked smooth, but Craig couldn’t say for sure what he felt like. He swallowed, imagining his palm pressed against John Paul’s cheek, fingers flicking through his short hair. He’d never dated someone with short hair. He touched his own to see what it would feel like under his fingers and a shudder went through him as he thought of John Paul’s hand running over his scalp like that. He chewed absently on his lip and curled his toes inside his socks. His dick throbbed to the heavy beat of his heart.

After that, everything got a little indistinct, like a camera that was set slightly out of focus. He imagined the sensation of two bodies together, imagined his hands running over flesh as they dragged one another closer. The details weren’t quite there, his mind failing to solidify any one idea. He imagined clothes and no clothes, imagined standing, imagined being laid down, laying John Paul down, being on top and being underneath. It wasn’t a fantasy of a certain scenario, a certain act. It was everything.

At some point during his drifting thoughts he fell into sleep and the dreams took care of the rest. He woke up somewhere around midnight, sticky and parched. He made his way to the bathroom, drinking water from the tap before taking a hot shower, the heat and steam easing his already tired body. As he crawled into bed, he fell easily into a contented sleep, not waking again until morning.

*

The next day, after Tom had gone to school and Steph had gone to Mobs, Craig sat down in front of his laptop. He stared at the little, flashing curser on his Google homepage and realised that he had no idea what to type. His first instinct had been ‘gay sex’, but he was fairly sure all he’d get was gay porn. He had no interest in gay porn. He wanted something informative without being explicit. He wanted to look at his options and see what kind of things might appeal to him so that he could solidify some of those images of himself and John Paul in his mind.

He sighed, sitting back in his chair. He was looking for wank fodder. He didn’t know why he was trying to dress it up as anything else. But it wasn’t quite as simple as that. He didn’t want to wank over some other guys. He _really_ didn’t want to wank over some other guys. His porn stash of nice busty girls was under his bed, and he had no intention of replacing it with anything else. He just wanted a believable scenario to place himself and John Paul into, something that he might actually want to try one day. His imagination wasn’t stretching far enough to give him something to work with on his own.

He sat forward with determination, typing in ‘gay sex for beginners’. The first link he was offered was entitled _‘How To Bend Over Your Boyfriend (anal penetration)’_ He quickly hit the back button, feeling decidedly unpleasant. This really wasn’t looking hopeful. He rethought his search term and tried ‘gay sex tips’ instead. The results were a lot less scary and so he took a chance on the first link.

He found a lot of interesting articles on all different aspects of gay sex and just what two blokes might get up to, and he even found some pretty interesting wanking tips that he definitely needed to try out. He felt kind of strange as he went through the web pages, his dick never entirely at rest, even as his mind battled with the thought of actually doing any of this stuff. Some of it made him feel kind of gross. But as he thought of John Paul, the images in his mind were becoming clearer, more distinct, and he knew that he was nearly ready to take the next step.

There was one thing that was still bothering him though. He could research gay sex until he was an expert on the subject, but none of that would make him on expert on gay sex with John Paul, and that was all he really cared about. He could work out what he liked from these sites, but he couldn’t work out what John Paul liked. He couldn’t work out what they’d be like together.

He knew what he was going to do long before he did it, but he didn’t move right away. He just sat there and read more articles and tried to push the decision from his mind like maybe he hadn’t really made it. He was embarrassed, embarrassed just by the thought of going through with it. He felt something like despair that it had come down to this. He was going to make an absolute tit of himself.

*

Kieron opened the door in that priest outfit that kind of made Craig’s skin crawl. It wasn’t a good start. Kieron looked surprised to see him, the subtle lift of his eyebrows and the questioning look giving him away.

“Can I come in?” Craig asked. “I just... I really need to ask you something.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kieron replied, opening the door wider and extending an arm towards the interior of the flat to encourage him. “Sit down. Do you want a drink or something?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Craig dismissed, sitting awkwardly on one of the sofas. Kieron towered over him even more when he was sat. He glanced around. “Is Niall in?”

“No, he’s at work,” Kieron replied. He sat down opposite Craig, leaning forward, clearly ready to offer support. “What’s the problem?”

Craig looked down at his lap, sinking into the cushions of the sofa. “Well, it’s about me and John Paul,” he began. “Because we’re together now. Kind of. And we’re moving onto the next stage. Only...” He trailed off. How the hell was he supposed to do this? “See, I’m trying to, well... We’ve decided that we should... Or I should...” He gave a frustrated sigh, looking up at Kieron. “What’s he like in bed?”

Kieron stared at him, clearly stunned. Craig was a little dazed by it himself.

“Okay, look, I didn’t really mean it like that,” he said. “Well, I kind of did...”

“I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation,” Kieron said, getting to his feet and moving around the room with little purpose. Craig guessed he just wanted to get away from him. “I’m a priest, Craig.”

“Yeah, you’re a priest who shagged my boyfriend,” Craig said bluntly. Kieron stopped moving and looked at him. The guilt was written all over his face. Craig sagged back into the seat. “I just want to know. Cos it’s not like we can try it, it’s not like I can find out for myself. When I think about him, I want it to be realistic. I want to feel like I really have him. I don’t want to have to make it up. I’ll just feel further away from him than I already do.”

Kieron’s face seemed to soften. He sat back down again, looking at the floorboards for a moment and seeming to consider something. He looked back up at Craig. “How are you?”

Craig blinked at him, wondering if he was missing something. “Kieron, I didn’t come here to make bloody small talk with you.”

“He talks about you now,” Kieron said. “John Paul. He mentions you in his letters.”

Craig couldn’t help but smile at that. “He does?”

Kieron nodded. “Yeah. He’s happy again. Very happy. It’s nice to see him like that.”

Craig felt touched by the sentiment. All he wanted was to make John Paul happy, to make things just a little bit easier for him. “Thank you.” Kieron offered him a small smile. “And I’m sorry,” Craig added. “For being insane. You must think I’m some kind of crazy pervert or something.”

“I don’t,” Kieron assured. “It must be very difficult for you. You don’t really realise how much sex means until you’re not having any. A lot of people take it incredibly for granted.”

“Yeah, but I can’t just break a vow and get him, can I?” Craig stated. It wasn’t really said with bitterness, just honesty. Their situations weren’t the same. Kieron got John Paul through weakness. Craig was sure he’d only ever get him through strength, strength that some days he didn’t feel like he possessed. He chewed on his lip. What was he doing here? “Listen, I’m gonna go,” he said.

“Craig, you don’t have to leave,” Kieron told him. “Stay for a cup of coffee or something. We can have a chat.”

“No, it’s okay,” Craig dismissed, getting to his feet. “I’ve wasted my whole morning on Google, I really should go... do something useful.”

Kieron nodded, accepting his lame excuse as the flee attempt that it really was. He got up to open the door for Craig. As his hand reached the door, he paused, taking a breath and turning to Craig. Craig braced himself, wondering what was coming next.

“You know that you didn’t need to come here and ask me that,” Kieron said, inadvertently making Craig feel like a total idiot. “You already know the answer.”

Craig looked at him questioningly. “I do?”

“Yeah,” Kieron said. “You know John Paul. You know that he can’t stand not being in control.”

Craig nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do know that.”

“That’ll get you further than Google will,” Kieron told him, opening the door.

Craig hadn’t really thought about it like that before. He assumed he didn’t know anything about how John Paul would be in bed, but he could see now that it wasn’t true. He did know John Paul, and so maybe everything else would slot into place if he just gave some of his research time to settle in his head. The answers were already there if he could just learn how to look for them. He gave Kieron a grateful smile and walked out the door, heading home to do some serious thinking.


	25. Chapter 25

John Paul’s smile still made Craig kind of giddy, maybe because he didn’t get a chance to see it very often. Not that John Paul didn’t smile at him often, he smiled at him so much more than he used to, but these visits were nowhere near as frequent as Craig would’ve liked. They spoke on the phone a few times a week, and they still wrote to each other too, a notion which seemed kind of romantic and sentimental to Craig now they that had much more immediate ways to communicate. But John Paul had a big family and so Craig’s visits never seemed to come around soon enough.

He slid into the seat opposite John Paul, passing his coffee over to him, their fingers brushing together as they smiled at one another, and Craig felt that thing again. That wonderful feeling that was like nothing else. He took a sip of his own drink and the two of them stared at each other, just stared, looks full of love shared between them.

Craig felt strangely content with that, just being able to sit opposite John Paul, being able to look at him, being able to breathe him in. John Paul’s leg stretched outwards and his foot hooked around Craig’s ankle, rubbing ever so slightly before settling there. It sent a gorgeous shiver of something like anticipation up Craig’s leg and into his groin, along his spine and to the pleasure receptacles in his brain that seemed to ready themselves for something that Craig knew in reality would never come, but something he couldn’t stop wishing for all the same. Something he couldn’t stop thinking about at all if he was honest.

He took a breath but didn’t push the thoughts away. Instead, he nurtured them, chewing slightly on his lip as his cheeks heated and his dick became just a little more awake. He shifted slightly in his seat and took in every detail of John Paul, knowing that he’d be putting it to good use that night. He had a feeling that John Paul knew it too, and that fact made the idea even more appealing. He found himself looking down at John Paul’s hands, remembering the many ways in which he’d imagined them, and he wondered what they would really feel like on his body.

John Paul leaned forward, and Craig automatically leaned in closer to be nearer to him. He breathed in, certain he could smell him. It gave him a tiny little flutter in his belly.

“I have this theory,” John Paul began.

“Go on,” Craig encouraged.

“Well, it’s not really a theory, it’s a fact,” John Paul corrected. He looked around slightly and then lowered his voice further. “We’ve kind of moved past the point of talking, haven’t we? I mean, it’s built up between us, and this is kind of the point where we’d...” he lowered his voice even further so that the word was more mouthed than spoken at all “...fuck.”

Craig went half-hard at the word said so near to him, the word on those lips, lips he’d been thinking about a lot. He noticed that this close there was a slight hint of golden stubble, but it didn’t look prickly. He wondered what it felt like. His fingers itched to touch.

John Paul sighed. “I don’t think I explained that very well. I just mean that we’re at that point, if this was a normal relationship, the sexual tension, it would’ve happened by now.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, his voice sounding strangely soft, like he was talking about something far more romantic than fucking.

“We’d do that and then we could remember how to talk to each other,” John Paul said. “Remember how to think straight. So to speak. Do I sound like a nympho?”

“No,” Craig replied. “You sound like you’re in my head.” He looked down at the table, edging his fingers closer to John Paul’s. “I’m glad you mentioned it actually. Because I had this idea.”

“You’re gonna buy me a rock hammer?” John Paul joked.

“No,” Craig said, still looking down at John Paul’s hand. “I thought we could do it at the same time. Say, midnight, maybe tonight, and then we’d both know that the other was doing it and it’d be kind of like doing it together. I mean, I know it’s not perfect or anything, but...”

John Paul didn’t reply straight away. Craig dared himself to look up. He saw John Paul with a frown on his face, his eyebrows knitted together in thought. He seemed troubled, but not entirely dismissive. Craig wasn’t quite sure what to think of that.

“It’s not really that easy,” he said, not quite looking at Craig. “I can’t exactly...”

“You don’t do that?” Craig asked.

“No, I do,” John Paul admitted. He met Craig’s eyes and gave him something like a reassuring look. “I do.” Craig smiled at him, at the admission hidden in those two little words. “It’s just... It’s like what I said before about picking your moments. You have to be careful. And you have to feel safe enough to... get into it. Doesn’t really work otherwise. And it’s never safe, but sometimes it’s safer. And I don’t know when ‘til the moment strikes really. It’s like everything in here, you can’t really plan for it, the opportunity just kind of presents itself if you wait around long enough.”

Craig nodded. He felt a little deflated. “Couldn’t you just try?” he asked. “Couldn’t you try tonight?”

John Paul shrugged, looking down. He seemed embarrassed maybe. Craig wasn’t sure whether it was at what they were talking about or the fact that he couldn’t promise to give Craig what he wanted. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was scared of something. He knew how much John Paul hated to be vulnerable.

He looked up again, licking his lips slightly. “Midnight?” he asked. “Isn’t that a little harlequin romance?”

Craig smiled. “Maybe. Just thought that people would be asleep and stuff. Doors would be locked. I dunno.”

“It’s a pretty sensible time,” John Paul agreed. “It’d probably work. I mean, it always depends who’s on duty and stuff. Some nights you get more privacy than others. But if the timing works out, then, yeah.”

“Yeah?” Craig asked, realising that he was sitting up a little straighter in his eagerness like a kid who’d just been told he could go to the zoo.

John Paul nodded. “We should really be talking about something else.”

“Right,” Craig agreed.

He gave John Paul a little grin which John Paul returned to him and they lapsed into silence again. John Paul was the one to finally break it. He became suddenly more animated and much less secretive and guarded as something occurred to him, and Craig couldn’t help but feel himself drawn in.

“Have you seen the football results lately?” John Paul asked. He seemed very pleased with himself and Craig knew exactly why.

“Might’ve glanced at ‘em,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

John Paul smiled at him, a wide smile that lit something up inside Craig. “I win,” he stated simply with a confidence that Craig thought he’d definitely like to see more of.

“Didn’t realise you played in the premiership,” he replied.

John Paul gave him a look. “The fantasy football,” he said. “Our little wager.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Craig responded, like he’d just remembered.

“You are such a sore loser,” John Paul accused, shaking his head.

“Me?” Craig asked innocently. John Paul gave him an amused smile, and Craig couldn’t help smiling back. “I suppose you’ll need some time to choose what books you’re gonna make me read though.”

John Paul shook his head. “Already got ‘em.”

“Aren’t you organised,” Craig said dryly.

John Paul moved his foot deliberately against Craig’s ankle, looking into his eyes as he did so. Craig completely lost his train of thought and just stared back, letting the sensation flush through his body, like every nerve ending was blushing and tingling at once, starting at his feet and spreading right up to his skull. He was struck with the need to touch John Paul, to just reach across the table and connect with him in some kind of visceral, physical way.

Suddenly, John Paul’s foot stilled. “So, as I was saying...” he began.

Craig felt himself cruelly dragged out of the moment and he knew his face must have fallen. He gave John Paul a look. “You are evil.”

“You kept interrupting me,” John Paul replied sweetly, like he was entirely justified in his distraction technique. Craig couldn’t really deny that he found it more than a little sexy the way he chose to take back the upper hand.

“Alright, fine, you have my full attention.”

John Paul stared at him for a minute in something like revelry, like maybe that little shared moment had meant a lot to him too. Craig could tell there was an honesty between them.

“Right,” John Paul said, focusing himself again. “I was thinking about it, and it was pretty close, y’know. The whole fantasy football thing.”

Craig shook his head. “You won, fair and square. I can handle losing.”

“You can’t,” John Paul teased. “But that’s not my point. It _was_ pretty close. And I know that you’re dying to know what my favourite book is. So I’ll do you a deal. One of the two books I’ve picked out for you is my favourite book in the world. I’m not gonna tell you which though. You have to guess.”

Craig smiled. “Yeah, alright, I reckon I can work you out.”

“Yeah?” John Paul asked, a playful challenge in his voice.

“You’re not so completed, McQueen,” Craig told him.

John Paul laughed slightly and looked down before meeting his eyes again. “Okay, so, book number one is _The Beach_ by Alex Garland.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen the movie of that,” Craig said. “With Leonardo DiCaprio, yeah?”

John Paul rolled his eyes. “That film is shit. It hasn’t got half as much stuff as the book and it’s nowhere near as deep. Erase it from your mind.”

Craig felt slightly embarrassed. “Okay,” he agreed. “The film wasn’t really what I expected to be honest anyway.”

“I think you’ll like the book,” John Paul told him. “It’s really evocative and consuming. And I guess you could say that it’s about shattered dreams, but it’s also about taking chances and making mistakes and learning from them. Which is all a part of growing up, right?”

Craig nodded. “Yeah.” It made him kind of sad though, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It wasn’t so much the talk of shattered dreams, more what John Paul felt you could gain from your mistakes. He had gained nothing from the mistake that had landed him in here, there was no lesson learned, at least Craig didn’t think there was. He wasn’t so sure that John Paul was growing up either, not in any traditional, healthy way.

“Oh, and, bonus points if you can get a copy without Leonardo DiCaprio’s face on it,” John Paul continued, apparently oblivious to Craig’s slight shift in mood. Craig was actually glad about that. He focused on him again with a little smile.

“I’ll try my best.”

John Paul shook his head. “You won’t find one.”

“And I suppose you have a cool copy with a complete lack of Leonardo DiCaprio on the cover,” Craig stated. John Paul simply nodded. Craig imagined him reading it, laid on his bed or sat at his desk. “So, is that copy still in your room?” he asked.

John Paul smiled at him, clearly seeing where he was going. “Yeah,” he replied. “I mean, unless Michaela’s done something to it. Go ask her. It’ll save you buying a copy. Even if it’s a little dog-eared and less than perfect.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Craig assured him. He actually loved the idea of having John Paul’s well-read book, the one that he would have sat with once upon a time, the one that he would have clutched in his hands, eagerly turning every page to find out what happened next.

“So, book number two,” John Paul said, snapping him out of his revelry.

“Yeah?” Craig encouraged.

“ _Oh, the Places You’ll Go!_ by Dr. Seuss,” John Paul stated simply.

Craig stared at him. “Dr. Seuss?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” John Paul shrugged.

Craig frowned. “Isn’t that a kid’s book, John Paul?”

John Paul suddenly broke out into a wide grin that made Craig’s stomach flip pleasantly. “So?” he asked. “Maybe you could do with embracing your inner child. And I have a feeling that book will be good for you. You’ll get something out of it. Trust me.”

“Is it about green eggs and ham?” Craig asked sceptically. John Paul gave him a look.

“It has nothing to do with green eggs and ham, Craig,” he assured him. “Read it, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Okay,” Craig agreed reluctantly. “And one of these is your favourite book?”

“Yeah, one of them is,” John Paul agreed. “But you have to read them both before you make any judgements.”

Craig smiled, offering his hand out for John Paul to shake. “I accept your challenge.”

John Paul looked at his hand and then raised his eyebrows by a fraction, but he took Craig’s hand in his own, holding it firmly and giving it a shake. John Paul’s palm was warm and slightly damp against his own. He imagined the pheromones that were trapped between their clasped hands. It turned him on more than he could quite explain.

Their hands began to slip apart, and Craig felt like he was falling away from John Paul, like he was in danger of falling down a great drop if John Paul didn’t just hang on to him. Their fingers skimmed one another’s palms and then, at the last moment, John Paul’s grip closed around Craig’s fingertips. It was fleeting, but it gave Craig all the assurance he needed that the edge he was teetering on wasn’t as precarious as it looked.

They didn’t talk about much for the rest of the visit. There were times that they didn’t say anything at all, just looked at each other, enjoyed each other’s silent company. Craig was in way over his head and he knew it, but he couldn’t really seem to care. Because John Paul was in over his head too. Because this was real, even if it had to be a secret.

When it was time for Craig to leave, they stood up together and shared one of their now familiar hugs. Craig’s senses were flooded with John Paul as their hot bodies pressed together through thin layers of fabric, and it was almost too much effort for him to stop his dick going hard. He wanted more, wanted to wrap his legs around John Paul and act on this aching sexual tension that they’d both admitted to, but John Paul whispered the word “midnight” into his ear and Craig took a breath before they stepped apart, bottling this feeling to use later when he acted on the promise in John Paul’s voice.

On the train ride home, Craig felt anticipation building within him. It felt like some kind of huge step that they were going to take together, like they’d be a real couple after they’d done this. It was the consummation of their relationship. And Craig knew that it would never make him as complete as actually having John Paul with him, being able to kiss him and touch him and shag him, but for now, it was what they had. It was everything they had. Craig wasn’t going to let it be ruined by what it wasn’t.

By the time he got home, his mind was firmly in the gutter and he was more than a little horny. He couldn’t stop thinking about John Paul, thinking about what they were going to do. Ever since he’d started thinking like this, ever since he’d let his thoughts about John Paul become full-fledged sexual fantasies, he’d had the best wanks that he ever remembered having in his life. He barely knew you could have so much fun on your own. And maybe his heart hadn’t exactly been in it recently, maybe his loneliness had made wanking seem kind of sad and juvenile, but that first wank he had over John Paul, it absolutely blew his mind, and he knew he was onto something good.

His thoughts became clearer, more detailed, the more he did it, the more he got his head around it. Maybe it was strange, but he actually felt like he was getting to know John Paul better through his fantasies and his own touch, like he was discovering new things about him as his mind put together likely scenarios and the dynamics between them became more defined, whether it was just Craig’s way of looking at things or not.

He imagined John Paul being strong; strong-willed as well as physically strong. He imagined that he was confident, that he knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. He imagined that he got his own way. There was something kind of spoilt and entitled about John Paul that made Craig especially believe in that one. Not that Craig had anything but affection for that side of him, and he kind of wondered exactly when that happened. He imagined that John Paul was skilled and experienced and liked to take control, resting his heavy body down on top of Craig’s and using every trick he had to prove that he knew best and that Craig should probably just surrender now. Craig didn’t think he’d mind that one bit. He imagined the power that would be shared between them. He imagined not having to hold back.

As he reached the front door of the flat, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and think about something else, anything else. It was only six thirty, still another five and a half hours before he and John Paul’s rendezvous. And maybe it was strange to call it that when there’d still be miles and prison bars between them, but Craig knew that they’d be together for real tonight, in spirit, in mind, if not in body.

Craig opened the door and was hit by the sound of the stereo playing something that was obviously from some musical, and he found himself thankful he didn’t know which one. Steph was in the kitchen, doing the washing up and singing along, while Tom sat on the sofa, cringing as he played his Xbox. Craig shut the door behind himself and perched on the edge of the sofa, leaning over to Tom who looked at him with something like pleading.

“Why don’t you go upstairs?” Craig asked him.

“I tried,” Tom replied. “You can still hear it.”

Craig gave him a commiseratory pat on the shoulder as he headed over to the stereo, turning the volume down. Steph’s voice faltered and she turned around, spotting Craig.

“Oh, hiya,” she said cheerily. “Didn’t realise you were back.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Just thought I should turn that down before Tom’s brains dribble out of his ears.”

“He doesn’t mind,” Steph dismissed, placing another glass in the soapy water. Craig sat down at the counter, raising his eyebrows at her. “He never complained,” Steph replied.

“I did,” Tom told her. “You just couldn’t hear me.” Steph frowned.

“You’re outnumbered here, y’know,” Craig told her. “You’re lucky we let you listen to that stuff at all.”

“You’re lucky I let you have a room in _my_ flat,” Steph countered, flicking some bubbles at his face. Craig wiped them away.

“I pay as much rent as you do,” he responded. “And I bring taste into your life, which money can’t buy.”

Steph gave him a look. “So, how’d it go today?”

“Yeah, good,” Craig nodded. He smiled fondly. “Really good.”

“So things are... going well,” Steph prompted.

Craig knew that she didn’t entirely approve of his relationship with John Paul, that she was wary about him and thought Craig was probably better off out of it. And Craig couldn’t really blame her. She didn’t know John Paul like he did. But they had a deal. Steph wouldn’t slag off John Paul if Craig kept his mouth shut about Niall. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Craig was sure it had saved them a lot of arguments. And to her credit, Steph was _trying_ to understand. He just wasn’t convinced she was there yet.

“Things are going really great, Steph,” Craig told her. “We’re really connecting, things are really...” He glanced behind himself at Tom who was focused entirely on his game. “I really like him,” he whispered. “In ways that I never really thought I would.”

“Do you have any idea how many times you just used the word ‘really’?” Steph asked.

“That’s because I can’t describe it,” Craig complained. “Whatever words I use, it doesn’t do it justice. It’s not enough.”

“Oh, pass me the bucket,” Steph said, rolling her eyes. “This mean you’re a fully-fledged gay then or something?”

“Steph!” Craig exclaimed, looking behind himself at Tom. Luckily he didn’t seem to have heard. He gave Steph a warning look. “Can you keep your voice down? And I’m not, anyway.”

“You’re not?” Steph asked, raising her eyebrows at him. “You’re not gay, but this bloke, this bloke convicted of murder, that you’ve barely known two minutes, has convinced you to be his boyfriend? How does that one work?”

“Alright, firstly, can you stop using that word?” Craig asked, giving her a pointed look. “And secondly, he didn’t convince me. It was something that we came to mutually. It was something that happened. He wasn’t the one who brought it up, I was.” Steph rolled her eyes at that, but she didn’t say anything. “And can we maybe not talk about this in front of...” He nodded his head towards Tom.

“Oh, he’s not listening to us,” Steph replied. “If he looks up now, I’ll give him a tenner,” she said, not raising her voice above the conversational tone. Craig turned to watch Tom. He didn’t look up. “See?”

“Still,” Craig said. “Maybe we can just... drop it.”

“Fine,” Steph shrugged. “I was only asking.”

Craig turned around to face Tom. “Hey, Tom, can I get in on the next game?”

“Yeah, alright,” Tom replied. “I like beating you.”

“Oh, cheers,” Craig responded sarcastically.

He got up and sat beside Tom, waiting for his turn. Steph walked back over to the stereo, turning the volume back up and singing along loudly as she finished the dishes. Craig and Tom exchanged a look, but they didn’t bother to say anything. They knew it wouldn’t do any good.

He and Tom played for most of the evening until it was time for Tom to go to bed. Steph always took him up a glass of milk and made sure he was settled before leaving him. Craig felt like Tom was probably too old for that now, but Tom never complained. It was a routine the two of them had gotten into since Max’s death and Craig could tell it gave a lot of comfort to them both. It wasn’t about getting tucked in at night, it was about knowing there was going to be someone there for you in the morning.

Craig looked at his watch. Just after nine. Still another three hours to go. He was getting restless. He wanted it to be now. His leg bounced up and down of its own accord as images flooded his brain, beautifully erotic images that he really didn’t need right now. He picked up his controller again and set the game to one player, trying to distract himself. By the time Steph came back downstairs, he found that it was actually working. She sat down beside him, one leg folded up beneath her, and looked at him expectantly.

“Alright, go on, gush,” she prompted.

Craig threw her a questioning look. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I know you’re all head over heels for this John Paul bloke, and I was kind of mean about him earlier,” Steph said. “I’m just looking out for you. And I know you don’t really need me to, but I’m your big sister. I worry sometimes. But I’m sure you’ve got it under control, and if he makes you happy then, who am I to judge?”

Craig paused his game and turned to face her, a smile spreading over his face. “Thanks.”

Steph shrugged. “I don’t really get it, but, tell me how fantastic he is and maybe I’ll warm to him a little more.”

Craig gave a small laugh. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly, unsure where to start. “I think you’d really like him. I wish you could meet him, because I bet the two of you would get on. He’s a laugh, y’know. You can have a joke with him. And the way he looks at stuff, he’s really smart and totally insightful. And there’s the superficial stuff too. He’s good-looking. He’s got these really blue eyes. And he’s always warm.”

Steph smiled slightly. “So, when did you know?”

“Know what?” Craig asked.

“That you were... less than straight,” Steph said carefully.

“I didn’t,” Craig replied. “I don’t. It’s not like that. I don’t fancy other blokes. I wouldn’t want to try any of that stuff with anyone else, there’s no appeal, none. But I am... sexually attracted to John Paul,” he admitted, avoiding Steph’s gaze as his cheeks heated in embarrassment. He fought back the images again, the vivid ones that called to him. He glanced at his watch. Two and a half hours. “Haven’t you ever fallen for someone against all the odds?”

“Yeah,” Steph agreed. “I’ve done against all the odds. It can be pretty great, can’t it? When it’s unexpected. It’s like someone throwing you the best surprise party ever, only it lasts... as long as it lasts.”

Craig nodded. There were no guarantees, but this wasn’t fleeting, he knew that much. It wasn’t a game. They’d made a commitment and they were seeing it through.

“So,” Steph said. “Reckon you could beat me on that thing?” She nodded towards the Xbox. Craig smiled.

“You don’t stand a chance.”

He switched it back into two player mode and handed the spare controller to Steph. They settled in and Craig found that it was actually a lot more fun when you weren’t getting humiliated by an eight year old. He and Steph laughed and elbowed each other and it was kind of like old times, when they hadn’t both become prematurely old. That was how it felt to Craig most days. Maybe John Paul was right; embracing his inner child more often wouldn’t be a bad thing.

After about an hour or so, Steph started to yawn, and Craig could tell what was coming next. She stretched her arms dramatically and then held the controller out to Craig. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “Need my beauty sleep.” She got to her feet. “You staying up?”

Craig glanced at his watch. An hour and fifteen minutes. “Yeah,” he said. “For a little while.”

“Okay,” Steph replied, leaning down to place a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Sleep well.”

“You too,” Steph smiled, heading up the stairs.

Craig sagged into the sofa, closing his eyes. He was tired. He felt like he could almost fall asleep right now. He wouldn’t though, he knew that. His mind was still too awake. It was waiting, anticipation bouncing around inside his skull and keeping an edge of alertness about him. He thought about playing another game to keep himself busy, to keep his hands occupied, but the graphics were starting to make his eyes go bleary. He started to wish that he’d gone to the trouble of getting the books that John Paul had set him so that he could start reading them now. That would distract him and bring his closer to John Paul at the same time. He wasn’t sure that his eyes would let him read anymore than they’d let him play that game though. Still, he wished he had John Paul’s copy of _The Beach_ with him. He wondered if it smelt like him, or if it just smelt like musty pages.

In the end, he put the TV on with the volume turned right down and watched _Friday Night with Jonathan Ross._ By the time that had finished, he only had twenty-five minutes left to wait. He turned the TV off and headed upstairs to get ready for bed. He went into the bathroom first, having a wash and brushing his teeth. Then he went through to his bedroom and stripped himself naked before rethinking the decision. Naked didn’t seem quite right somehow. He pulled his boxers back on and slipped underneath his duvet.

When he turned the light off, there was still ten minutes left to go. He closed his eyes and finally let all of those thoughts in, everything he’d been storing up since he’d walked away from John Paul earlier that day. He imagined John Paul’s body before him, imagined that heat that he associated so easily with him. He mentally undressed him, conjuring images of what he might look like under those non-descript clothes that Craig didn’t feel represented him at all. As the clock by his bedside displayed four zeros, Craig finally let his hand travel downwards.

He tried to put himself in John Paul’s place, tried to find a way to sync them up so that they could do this together. He knew that circumstances might not be ideal for John Paul. He knew that he might not be feeling safe, feeling comfortable enough to lose himself to this like Craig was in his comfy bedroom. It might take him a while to get fully into the mood. And so Craig started out slow, placing a hand over his half-hard dick and rubbing gently through the fabric of his underwear.

He thought about kissing John Paul, thought about pressing their bodies together, John Paul so warm and solid against him just like he always was. Craig had come to crave that. He definitely craved it now. He wanted John Paul’s thigh pressed between his legs, wanted his chest pressing down against his own, so close that he was forced to breathe out whenever John Paul breathed in. He pressed down harder with his hand as a tiny noise escaped him.

He wondered what it must be like for John Paul now, wondered what he must be going through. Craig was fully hard already, desperate to touch himself, but he held off. John Paul probably felt vulnerable, doing what he was doing in that cell. In order to enjoy it, to embrace it, he’d have to let his guard down, and Craig knew how much he hated to do that. He had a moment of doubt, wondering if John Paul was even doing it at all. Maybe he felt too silly, sitting in his cell and wanking himself off. Maybe it was too embarrassing. Maybe he’d decided that it wasn’t worth the risk.

Craig pushed the thoughts away. If he was certain of anything then it was the connection he’d felt with John Paul earlier that day. They were crazy about each other. They wanted this, needed it, needed things to progress. It was the next best thing to touch. And John Paul was the one who’d brought it up. Sex was clearly on his mind just as much as it was Craig’s, whether he considered himself to have a healthy sex drive or not. Craig had every faith that John Paul would be doing everything he could to make this happen for them tonight, to be in the moment with him.

Unable to hold off any longer, Craig slid his hand under the waistband of his boxers, closing it loosely around his dick. He stroked and fondled with no real design, his body restless as he tried to pace himself. He imagined that it was John Paul’s hand playing with him, teasing him. After John Paul’s little performance earlier that day, he was sure that he could be a terrible tease when he was in the mood for it. Craig was kind of in love with that idea; a gorgeous mix and playfulness and power.

It wasn’t long before Craig was groaning out loud, a combination of the images and the touches making it almost too much to bear. He bit down on his lip, wishing that Steph and Tom weren’t there so he could just let himself go. He considered that it must be a thousand times harder for John Paul.

Craig shoved his boxers down, unable to stand them any longer, and wrapped his hand tightly around his cock, the shock of arousal making him grit his teeth and arch his back. He breathed in the masculine smell of sweat and testosterone and precome and he imagined John Paul’s scent mixed in with it all. He never thought something so manly would be so sexual to him.

As he stroked himself, setting up a rhythm that still required some restraint, he licked his lips and imagined tasting John Paul there, imagined their mouths pressed together. As he breathed in shakily at the thought, he imagined John Paul kissing his neck, touching the sides of his torso, something between a tickle and a caress. He squirmed slightly at the thought. He rubbed his free hand against a nipple, making it peak and then squeezing it gently between his thumb and forefinger. Then he squeezed it harder, harder than was really comfortable in a way that made him hot as hell. He could definitely see John Paul winding him up like that, pushing him just a little bit further and showing him that he liked it.

It was funny how he could learn things about himself while he was doing this. He was probably learning more things about himself than he was John Paul if he was honest. None of it was real except for his own desires. The things he had John Paul do in his head might be based on the things he saw in those visits, the things he gleaned from their phone calls, but really, in his head, John Paul only did what Craig told him to do, what Craig _wanted_ him to do. Craig never knew that he’d ever wanted some of these things, but with John Paul being the one who was supposedly showing him, it all seemed nothing but wonderful.

He rubbed his thumb around the head of his cock and imagined that it was John Paul’s tongue licking around him. The sensations weren’t really all that alike, but he was getting pretty good at pretending, especially when he was as far gone as this. The flickering of a tongue was something that he missed, something that he wished there were an easy way to replicate, but when it got down to it, he was more than content with what he had to work with, in the absence of the real thing. If he let himself truly acknowledge what he was missing out on, he’d probably just be overcome by sadness and lose his hard on all together. Maybe it was just a wank, but it somehow made things between he and John Paul healthier, and so he refused to let anything ruin it for him.

As he wanked himself, his hand getting quicker, more determined, he let his mind alternate between what he thought John Paul might do to him, and what he might be doing to himself right now. He imagined John Paul licking him, kissing him, touching him, as their bodies moved together, wrapped up in one another. He imagined John Paul under his prison blanket, how he would be restrained, quiet, maybe even tentative. He imagined his feelings for Craig though, imagined the thoughts that must be in his head, the things that he wanted. He imagined what John Paul was thinking about him. Something about the simplicity of that image in contrast to the soft-focus, romantically lighted fantasy of the two of them together really got to Craig. He liked the normality of John Paul’s hand around his dick, tiny whimpers stifled by his pillow. It was beautiful in its own way. It was the truth and Craig found it surprisingly irresistible.

His orgasm was almost upon him and he wondered if it was too soon. He wondered how near John Paul was. He knew it was impossible, but he wanted to try and time it so that they came together. By his own admission, John Paul didn’t do this very often, so even if he was worried and inhibited by his surroundings, it might not take him all that long to get there. Teenage boy’s bodies do what teenage boy’s bodies do. It was a statement of such profound honesty and normality that Craig had unwittingly committed it to memory.

He wasn’t going to last much longer and he decided not to fight it. It was inevitable and it seemed right. It had never seemed more right. He touched himself more urgently, gripped harder and stroked faster. He imagined John Paul’s hand on him, knowing exactly what to do. He imagined him gazing down at him as he watched him start to unreel. He imagined John Paul in his cell, curled up on his side maybe, straining to stay silent as his hand moved rapidly under that blanket, dirty, delicious thoughts of Craig filling his head. He imagined being John Paul’s escape, if only for a moment. He imagined them together, in some space between their two physical locations, up there in the sky where they could almost reach the stars.

Craig shook as it hit him, wave after wave pulsing through his body and out of his dick as he coated his fingers. His muscles tensed, his mouth frozen open in some silent little scream. His back was arched, his hips up off the bed, his hand moving with a total lack of coordination as he pushed himself through the almost too intense sensations that wracked his body. And then it was gone, his body sagging and his chest heaving, a warm feeling of utter contentness spreading throughout his body as he imagined John Paul there with him, imagined John Paul breathless and sticky in his cell, imagined them slipping apart amongst the heavens as they went back to rest where they belonged.

“I love you, John Paul,” he whispered to the empty room, the words nothing but air as his sated body dragged him through his state of sudden, wonderful exhaustion and into sleep. He had a feeling that, in a dark cell in Hindley Prison, the words were being returned to him.


	26. Chapter 26

Going to the McQueen’s house always felt slightly strange to Craig. Part of him felt as though John Paul should be there, even though he’d never seen him in that house, even though he’d never seen him anywhere but that visiting hall. Still, it was where John Paul belonged and it was almost like a part of him was still there, not in the hearts of the family that loved him or anything as romantic as that, but like he was permeated into the walls, like he’d become some kind of physical part of the building. Skin cells and secretions. Evidence of his existence.

Craig knocked on the shabby front door, the one that John Paul would have come home to everyday. It was Carmel who opened it, a smile lighting up on her face when she saw who it was.

“Hiya, Craig,” she greeted. “How are you? Are you comin’ in?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Craig said, stepping inside as she moved out of the way. “I just came to get a book. John Paul said I could borrow it.”

“Oh, right,” Carmel responded brightly, like that was really exciting news. She was so enthusiastic about he and John Paul that it was kind of adorable. “Let’s go find it.”

Craig followed her upstairs to John Paul’s room. Michaela’s room, he reminded himself. He could feel John Paul’s presence and influence most strongly here and he was sure that Michaela felt the same way.

“Which one was it?” Carmel asked, looking at the shelf like she’d never seen a book before. Craig went over to join her, scanning through the titles. He found _The Beach_ and pulled it out carefully, watching the other books settle into the gap he’d left.

“This is it,” he said, looking it over.

The cover was creased and worn, the whole book kind of battered and clearly well used. The spine wasn’t quite straight anymore and some of the pages were bent over slightly, in carelessness rather than design. Everything about it was softened, from the corners to the pages to the front cover, the front cover that definitely didn’t have a picture of Leonardo DiCaprio on it. Instead there were footprints in sand and a blue eye that was almost like John Paul’s. Craig gazed at it, his thumb rubbing over the paper fondly like he was touching a part of John Paul. He wondered how much of him was pregnated into those pages.

“Do you like reading then?” Carmel asked. “Our John Paul loves reading. He was always dead brainy.”

Craig smiled, looking up at her. “Actually, I lost a bet. This is my forfeit.”

“Oh,” Carmel said. “Does that mean it’s like homework then?”

“Something like that,” Craig replied, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked at the book again, turning it over in his hands.

“How is John Paul, anyway?” Carmel asked. “I mean, I know I talk to him all the time too, but I bet he says different stuff to you. Bet you get to see a different side to him.”

Craig nodded. He was never quite sure how to answer that question. “I think he’s alright,” he replied. “He smiles. He’s got a great smile. And he’s cocky. He’s been pretty cocky lately. I think that’s a good sign.”

“He’s mad about you,” Carmel blurted out like an excited schoolgirl. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that, but he is. I think it’s dead sweet. And I’m sure you already know.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed with a shy smile. “Never quite get bored of hearing it though.”

“And things are goin’ alright between you?” Carmel said.

Craig nodded. “It’s hard sometimes, y’know, but... I think we have this understanding of where we’re at. We’ve got this connection. It doesn’t make up for everything, but... we get by. And when we’re in the zone and on the same page and everything then it’s pretty amazing.”

Carmel sighed, looking at him like he was a mushy romance novel. “I’m so glad he’s got you. We’re all really glad he’s got you. He’s dead lucky. Not many people would do what you’ve done. Take a chance on him when he’s in there.”

“Well, it was kind of out of my hands,” Craig dismissed. “Couldn’t have stopped myself falling for him if I’d wanted to.”

“But just bein’ his friend,” Carmel said. “He’d never admit that he was lonely, but I know that meant a lot to him. Just havin’ someone to talk to that wasn’t us.”

“Was kinda nice for me to have someone to talk to too,” Craig admitted. “I’ve never really had a best mate before.”

Carmel smiled at him. “Here, do you fancy stayin’ for tea tonight?” she asked. “I know my mum’d be thrilled to see you. And no surprise guests this time, I promise. Just you and the family.”

Craig gave a slight laugh at the memory, but it wasn’t really one of amusement. “Don’t suppose Kieron gets many invites round here now.”

“Mum hasn’t quite forgiven him yet,” Carmel agreed gravely, like maybe she felt bad for him. “So, anyway, did you want to stay?” she asked, perking herself up again.

“I can’t,” Craig replied. “I told Steph I’d watch Tom. She’s going out. Another time though.”

Carmel nodded and smiled. “That’d be nice. And, between you and me, even Jacqui said you were alright. So you don’t have to feel awkward or anything.”

“Jacqui said I was alright?” Craig asked in surprise. He’d kind of assumed that she still wanted to kick his head in. He couldn’t imagine her tolerating him, let alone liking him.

“She’s not daft,” Carmel said. “She might be wary, but she can see everything you’ve done for our John Paul. She can see how happy you make him. And if you’re on his good side, you’re on her good side.”

Craig smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Was there anything else you wanted then?” Carmel asked. “Besides the book, I mean. Did you want to borrow owt else of his?”

Craig glanced around the room, not because he wanted anything else, but just to see what was on offer, what he could come back for another time. Little pieces of John Paul that he was welcome to take. He loved that, loved that John Paul had given his permission to be here and touch his things. It was almost as though John Paul himself had opened the door to him.

He looked at the photos on the wall, the ones of John Paul with friends and family. It made him feel kind of nostalgic for times that he hadn’t even been around for. He wished that he hadn’t missed out on so much of John Paul’s life. He wished that he could have known him then. He didn’t let the regrets eat him up though. He was grateful for what he had.

“No,” he said. “It was just the book I came for.” He looked down at it in his hands.

“Just know that you’re welcome anytime,” Carmel told him.

“Thanks,” Craig replied earnestly. They shared a smile. “Anyway, I better go and make a start on this.”

*

“You haven’t finished it yet?” John Paul asked incredulously, looking at him like he was a total moron.

“I’ve _nearly_ finished,” Craig replied defensively. “It’s a long book.”

“Do you have the reading level of a five year old or something?” John Paul teased.

Craig gave him a look. “I’ve nearly finished,” he repeated. “I bet I can finish it off on the train ride home. Well, maybe. I’ll have it finished in a couple of days.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t give you _War and Peace_ to read, isn’t it?” John Paul stated. He shifted in his seat, his foot unintentionally moving against Craig’s ankle where it was resting. It made Craig pause for a moment.

“I’ve read _Oh, the Places You’ll Go!_ about ten times now,” he stated. “I love it.”

“Knew you would,” John Paul said. “And we’re not talking about this until you finish _The Beach_.”

“I can already tell which is your favourite,” Craig stated.

“You have to finish _The Beach_ or it’s not a fair discussion,” John Paul insisted. “I’m not bending on this one.”

“Bending?” Craig asked, raising his eyebrows.

John Paul narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t,” Craig complained, the word coming out like a whine.

He leaned in closer, resting his head against his own hunched shoulder like he was resting is against John Paul’s. He felt tired, not really physically tired, but emotionally. Holding back was becoming more of a strain every time he visited. He didn’t really want John Paul to stop flirting with him though. He thought he’d be heartbroken if he did. John Paul’s face softened, like he understood. He moved his foot gently against Craig’s ankle in a way that seemed soothing.

“I would, y’know, if you wanted,” John Paul said.

Craig looked at him. “What?”

“Bend,” John Paul said simply.

Craig blushed at the images that suddenly flashed through his mind. “Um, right, okay,” he stuttered out.

John Paul smiled at him, a sweet, genuine, almost shy little smile. “Just, in case you were wondering. Because we never really had _that_ discussion. And I’m shutting up now.”

Craig gave him a smile that he hoped was comforting before he ducked his head. His cheeks were burning and he was sure he was giving himself away. There was barely a moment he _didn’t_ spend thinking about it nowadays. But John Paul was right, they’d never had the discussion, never spoken about any of this out loud, despite the things they’d agreed to and the declarations they’d managed to let slip when they hoped no one else was listening.

“Me too,” Craig stated, unsure whether he was trying to prove something to John Paul or just reassure him. “With the bending. Me too. If you wanted.” John Paul looked at him. He seemed a little surprised, like he hadn’t quite expected Craig to be open to the idea. “I’ve thought about it,” Craig assured him.

John Paul nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He looked away, his gaze roaming the room, this blank look on his face like he had no idea what to say. Craig didn’t take it as a bad thing, more that his mind was in the gutter like Craig’s was and he’d forgotten how to form coherent sentences. Craig was kind of proud he could have that affect on him. It didn’t clean up his own mind any to know that he could though.

“So,” John Paul began, making a valiant effort to rescue the conversation. “What have you been up to? Tell me something exciting that you’ve done.”

“You spoke to me on the phone last night,” Craig stated. “I haven’t done anything exciting since last night.”

“You mean you didn’t go snort cocaine off hookers when we hung up?” John Paul asked.

“Not my scene,” Craig dismissed. John Paul gave him a little smile. “No, I just read a bit of _The Beach_ and went to bed,” Craig told him. “Then I just kind of pottered around this morning cos I knew I was coming here. Had some breakfast, bought Tom some new comics from Drive ‘n’ Buy, helped him read them. I lead such a boring life, don’t I?”

“No,” John Paul said honestly. “Trust me, I would swap this for breakfast and comics any day.”

Craig smiled slightly, but he knew it was a sad smile. Normality probably did seem glamorous when you were stuck somewhere like that. He remembered the promise he’d made to John Paul, the one to do exciting things, to live his life to the full. He felt almost like he was letting him down if he was being boring. But he was doing things now, things he wasn’t doing before. He was reading books and seeing friends. He was getting involved in activities and taking time for himself. And maybe that was enough. Maybe, so long as he wasn’t afraid to take risks every now and then, it was enough to just be living his boring little life. It was better than turning his back on it.

He looked down at John Paul’s hands on the table. He knew that they’d effectively run out of things to say to each other. They spoke on the phone every other day now, and Craig loved it, loved that he could count on John Paul being there, loved that he never had to go more than a day without speaking to him. Talking that frequently did mean that they had less to say to each other, but Craig didn’t really mind. He actually liked these silences. He liked that they didn’t have to spend these two hours cramming in as much information as possible because they knew they wouldn’t be speaking again for weeks. They could just enjoy each other’s company. It was so much more relaxed that way.

When the time came to leave, Craig didn’t want to move. He wasn’t even sure if he could. He just wanted to sit there and stare at John Paul all night. Somehow it seemed like the perfect way to while away an evening. He just felt this irresistible draw, something that was completely out of his hands. He wanted to stay with him. He wanted to reach out to him. He wanted to just belong to him in every sense of the word.

“Well,” John Paul said, looking around.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed with more than a little sadness in his voice.

“Want me to call tonight?” John Paul offered, clearly picking up on his mood.

“You just spent two hours with me,” Craig pointed out.

“I know,” John Paul shrugged. “But I wouldn’t mind. I’ll call if you want.”

Craig shook his head. “Save your credit. Call me tomorrow. Or Monday if you want.”

“Tomorrow,” John Paul promised. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Craig agreed. And then John Paul was getting to his feet, so Craig had no option but to follow.

They shared their usual hug, bodies pressed together and hands patting backs. Craig’s eyes slid closed entirely of their own accord. He held John Paul a little tighter than he meant to. He couldn’t help it. That now familiar scent stirred up his body, made him tingle from head to toe in this strange way that wasn’t quite real. This would never be enough. In some split second realisation he knew that this would never ever be enough. This wouldn’t last him forever.

As they pulled apart, he opened his eyes and caught sight of John Paul’s face, right next to his. And then, before he could change his mind, he was kissing him. He lips pressed up against John Paul’s and his heart fluttered inside his chest. He grabbed onto the sides of John Paul’s face with both of his hands, pulling him closer as his lips moved, parted, his tongue flicking against the place where John Paul should be opening up to him. He could taste nothing but bland skin. There was nothing more on offer.

Then, for a tiny half-second, John Paul’s lips were moving and Craig was sure that he was being kissed back, and his heart fluttered again, swelled in his chest, and he thought his legs might buckle. He could taste something with the very tip of his tongue, moistness and something else, but then there was an immense pressure on his shoulders and as cold air hit his lips, a searing pain spread outwards from his nose and his knees did buckle, dropping him down onto the cold floor.

When he opened his eyes, John Paul was stood above him, his hand still clenched into a fist. His face was impossible to read, so many conflicting emotions there that he was carefully trying to store away and not let anybody see. Craig was aware of heat gushing down his face and onto his clothes and he knew without needing to look that it was his own blood.

Out of nowhere, two guards appeared, grabbing hold of John Paul and trying to haul him off. He stepped with them but tried to shrug off the hands that kept landing on him.

“Come on, McQueen,” one of them was saying. “Let’s get you down to segregation. I think someone needs a time out.” The voice was condescending and it grated on Craig.

“I’m fucking walking, you don’t need to touch me,” John Paul yelled at them. Craig wished that he could just make it easy on himself for once.

He sat there on the floor, dazed and knowing that everyone was staring at him, but he couldn’t quite see them, even as his cheeks burned with shame. He flicked out his tongue, trying to capture that taste of John Paul that had just eluded him, but all he could taste now was blood, sickly and tart. A guard crouched down at the side of him and Craig just stared at him blankly.

“Think it might be time for you to leave, mate,” he said to Craig, pulling him to his feet. He escorted him to the door and Craig couldn’t quite tell whether he was in trouble or not. “Bathroom’s that way if you wanna clean up before you go,” the guard told him, pointing in a direction that Craig already knew. He obediently walked down the corridor on numb legs.

His reflection in the mirror didn’t quite look like him. He looked grotesque. There was bright red streaming from his nose and over his lips, contorting them into something that didn’t even seem capable of kissing. He cringed at the thought, turning away from the mirror and bolting into one of the cubicles, locking the door behind him.

He braced himself against the door for a moment, trying to catch his breath, trying to get everything to stop spinning. He sat down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet and grabbed at the toilet paper beside him, pulling out far too much and wiping it over the mess of his face, the white tissue coming away red. He grabbed some more as a thought flickered through his head. At least now he knew he didn’t have to worry about John Paul getting into fights in there. Clearly he was more than capable of throwing a decent punch. The thought almost made him sneer.

As he sat there in the cubicle, his nose throbbing and his eyes blurred with unshed tears, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Part of him didn’t want to think about it, part of him just wanted to stay numb and go home and hide from the world. But for a fraction of a second, John Paul had kissed him back, Craig was sure of it, and that fact almost made all of the pain and humiliation worth it, not because he was a pathetic doormat, but because, if John Paul really did kiss him back, that changed everything.

Craig knew that John Paul couldn’t stand being backed into a corner, that he lashed out when someone forced him into one, and Craig couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t done just that. Really, what option had he given John Paul? No matter how much he wanted to, there was no way he could stand in the middle of that visiting hall and snog Craig’s face off with all the inmates and visitors and guards watching. Craig screwed his eyes shut. What the hell had he done? John Paul was probably going to get the shit kicked out of him and it was all his fault because he couldn’t keep his stupid fucking hormones in check. He couldn’t stop thinking with his dick.

Tears were falling now, escaping out of the corners of his closed eyes. He wasn’t thinking with his dick, he was thinking with his heart, and that’s what made it worse. He was in love. He couldn’t stand not acting on it. The intimacy he truly craved wasn’t even sexual. All he wanted was a memory of having had John Paul, just one kiss to prove to himself that it was real.

John Paul had kissed him back. However briefly, John Paul had kissed him back. He clung to that fact, pushing away every unpleasant thought of how he might have broken this for good.

By the time he came out of the cubicle his face was smeared with tears and blood. He stared at his reflection, seeing nothing but a pathetic boy looking back at him. He ran the tap, cleaning himself up the best he could. The blood had already dried onto his shirt though. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get the stain out.

He kept his head down as he walked past the guards, certain that they were staring and whispering. He grabbed his things out of his locker and headed for the station, already knowing before he got there that he’d missed his train. He sat on the cold metal bench, settling himself in for an hour’s wait. He had his copy, John Paul’s copy, of _The Beach_ with him, and normally he would’ve loved this chance to get some reading done, but he really wasn’t in the mood right now. He didn’t think he’d take any of it in. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and stared into the middle-distance, trying his best not to think.

When he finally got home, he felt a flooding sense of relief that he was only a few steps from collapsing onto his bed where he wouldn’t have to keep up the pretence any longer and he could just let himself be miserable and crushed. As he opened the door to that flat, he heard the voices before he saw who they belonged to. His heart sank as he stepped inside and saw Niall sitting in his kitchen, Steph passing him a cup of tea. He really wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Alright, mate?” Niall greeted with a friendly smile.

Craig just grunted a response, heading straight for the stairs. Unfortunately, Steph caught sight of him, putting her arm out to stop him getting any further.

“Is that blood?” she asked, concern written all over her face. Craig just looked down at himself dumbly like he hadn’t even noticed. “Craig, what happened?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Craig,” Steph said carefully, keeping her hand on his arm. “Did John Paul do this?” Craig didn’t respond. Steph’s face crumpled with worry and Craig knew exactly what she was thinking. All of her concerns about John Paul had been proven right, written in bloodstains down Craig’s shirt.

“I’m going upstairs,” Craig said again, shaking free from her comforting grip and taking the first few steps. He heard Niall snort a laugh and something inside him snapped. He turned back around, striding towards him. “I’m sorry, do you have a problem?”

“No,” Niall said, shaking his head earnestly. “It’s just, that John Paul, he’s got a temper on him, hasn’t he?”

“You don’t know the first thing about John Paul,” Craig spat out.

“No offence, mate, but I’ve known him longer than you have,” Niall stated calmly. “And he’s a good kid, don’t get me wrong. I’m fond of the lad. He’s sweet as anything as long as he’s getting his own way. I’ve just always been careful to stay on his good side.”

Craig looked away dismissively, but the words were setting something off inside his brain. John Paul could be difficult when things weren’t going his way, when people weren’t playing to his rules. He wasn’t dangerous though, Craig had always been certain of that. Selfish, perhaps, but not dangerous. He refused to buy into that idea.

Without another word, he headed up the stairs, shutting his door a little harder than was necessary. It was his childish, symbolic way of shutting out the world. He sat on his bed, and he expected to cry, expected the hopelessness to consume him, but in truth, he didn’t feel much at all. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in yet. Maybe he hadn’t gotten his head around it. He still had no real idea of what this meant. He wasn’t yet sure how much damage he’d done.

By the side of his bed was his copy of _Oh, the Places You’ll Go!_ and Craig found himself reaching for it, holding it in his hands. He was certain it was John Paul’s favourite book, whether John Paul was willing to talk about it yet or not. He wondered whether John Paul regretted giving this piece of himself to Craig now. He wondered if he regretted letting him in at all.

Craig pushed the thoughts away. They weren’t helping. He didn’t think that they were true anyway. His optimism felt completely out of place, but he couldn’t believe that John Paul would turn his back on him now. It just seemed so unlikely. Their bond went deeper than that. Craig might have just made things almost impossible for them, but somehow he still believed it would work. He didn’t know what they’d do without each other.

He laid down on his stomach and opened up the book, starting to read. He remembered the first time he’d read the book, weeks ago now, and he hadn’t expected much, but he’d been kind of blown away by it, if he was honest. It was such an uplifting little story and it had made him feel really good about himself, about the things that he could achieve in life, even with those inevitable setbacks.

But then he thought of John Paul and it just made him sad. John Paul had obviously believed in the message of this book at some point too, and maybe he still did if he was getting Craig to read it. But John Paul wasn’t on a journey anymore. He wasn’t moving mountains. Or maybe Craig was looking at it all wrong. Maybe this was a Bang-up or a Hang-up or a Slump. Or maybe this was The Waiting Place. If there was one message that Craig felt he was supposed to take away from that book, he guessed it was that there was always a way out.

He flicked through the pages in front of him, looking at the happy parts, the hopeful parts, the parts where things went wrong. Sometimes you had to make mistakes to get on the right path, but the one thing that was certain was that you should never give up. Craig had known the answer to his problems all along, he’d just never been brave enough to set the ball rolling. Now was the time for him to take control or lose John Paul forever.


	27. Chapter 27

Craig had been keeping his head down all week. He wasn’t really sure who he was hiding from, Steph or Niall or the McQueens or just everyone. He wanted to be on his own. He wanted to try and get his head straight and work out his next move. He hated thinking of it in those terms, like it was some kind of game or tactical endeavour. It wasn’t really true. He couldn’t roll a six and win. The fact remained, however, that things needed thinking through. He wasn’t going to just sit back and let it all happen around him anymore.

He knew that he couldn’t hide away forever though. He had to leave the flat at some point, he had things to do, and so he put on a brave face and hoped that people would just leave him alone. He’d only gotten as far as Drive ‘n’ Buy when it become obvious that wasn’t going to happen.

“Oi!” Michaela yelled at him across the village, walking up to him with something close to a swagger. She was clearly on the warpath. “I want a word with you.”

Craig weighed up his options, glancing around. Part of him wanted to turn around and go back up the steps, lock himself away, but he didn’t move. This was going to happen sooner or later, he should probably get it over with. Michaela stepped up to him. She was only small, but she was ferocious.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded.

“Excuse me?” Craig asked.

“John Paul,” Michaela stated. She got a little closer, looking at his face, his nose to be exact. It was still kind of tender and a little swollen. “At least it looks like he got you good,” she said.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “He really did. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He made a move to leave, but she stood in front of him.

“What did you do?” Michaela repeated.

“Does it matter?” Craig asked wearily.

“Yeah, it does matter,” Michaela insisted. “I can’t see him now because of you.”

Craig paused. “What?”

“Well, they reckon if he’s gonna go punchin’ his visitors in the face, maybe he shouldn’t be gettin’ visitors,” Michaela explained, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was supposed to see him on Saturday. I ha’n’t seem him for ages.”

“They’re not letting him have visitors?” Craig asked. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, guilt twisting painfully around. He knew how much those visits meant to John Paul, knew how important it was for him to be able to spend a little time with the people that he cared about, and now Craig had snatched it carelessly away from him. “For how long?” he asked.

“I dunno,” Michaela replied. “If he’s good, they might let him have some next week. I don’t reckon he’s been good though. They only let him out of segregation today.”

Craig shifted on the spot, a hand going up to his face, rubbing absently at his skin. Why would John Paul be acting out? Unless he didn’t want to go back to the other prisoners. He felt that guilt stabbing at him again, all of the things he might have left John Paul open to because of some stupid little kiss. He was so selfish.

“Whatever you did, it’s summat juicy,” Michaela said. “You look like you’re gonna cry.”

“Just leave it, yeah,” Craig implored.

“Well, it’s your fault,” Michaela said. “It’s your fault that I can’t see my big brother. So you know what I reckon? I reckon you should be my big brother.”

Craig stared at her. “What?”

“You owe me,” Michaela told him. “So you’re gonna be my surrogate big brother.”

Craig considered it for a moment. He wasn’t sure he had the patience to have a little sister like Michaela and yet, strangely, the idea was almost appealing to him. Maybe he was just willing to do anything to try to make up for what he’d done to John Paul.

“And what would I have to do if I was your big brother?” he asked.

“Well, you can start by buying me some alcohol,” Michaela said.

Craig gave her a look. “Aren’t you seventeen?”

“Well, duh,” she responded like he was some kind of idiot. “If I was eighteen, I’d buy it myself, wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t think John Paul would’ve bought you alcohol,” Craig said, shaking his head.

“Yeah he would,” Michaela insisted. “He’s well cool is John Paul.”

“I’m not buying you alcohol, Michaela,” Craig told her. “You’re gonna have to think of something else.”

Michaela pouted thoughtfully. “Well, there is something you could do.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Craig asked dryly, finding himself cringing slightly.

“You know how I’m a journalist, right?” Michaela began.

“You’re not a journalist, Michaela,” Craig dismissed.

“Shut up, I am _so_ a journalist,” Michaela insisted. “And you have got a well good story to tell.”

Craig snorted incredulously. He could barely take in what she was saying. He didn’t think even Michaela would sink that low. “You want me to tell you about me and John Paul?” he asked. “So you can sell it?”

“I’m not gonna sell it, you div,” Michaela dismissed. “I just wanna practice. It’s not every day you get a story as juicy as this to work on. I’d never show it to anyone.”

“Look, I just don’t think it’s a very good idea,” Craig told her.

The suggestion made him feel uneasy, if he was honest. It wasn’t even that he didn’t trust Michaela, he knew she’d never do anything to deliberately hurt John Paul, no matter how big her mouth was. He just didn’t really fancy spilling his heart out to a seventeen year old girl who had a tendency to make fun of him at every given opportunity.

“I won’t even save it, I’ll delete it,” Michaela told him. “I’ll type it and I’ll delete it. And I’ll erase the tape of your interview. It’ll be like it never even happened. I just want to write it. I just want to be able to write it.” She sighed, looking down, and Craig kind of wanted to hug her. “Do you know how many times I’ve written his story?” she asked. “Because I want to tell it right. I want it to be the truth for once instead of all the crap the press have spouted about him. But it’s never good enough. My story’s never good enough. I feel like I’m letting him down. If anyone should be able to write his story it’s me.”

“Well, maybe you’re just too involved,” Craig suggested. “It can’t be easy to be objective about your own brother.”

Michaela looked up at him. “I’m scared that it’s because I never bothered to know him well enough while he was still around. It’s too late now.”

“Don’t be daft,” Craig told her. “Of course it’s not too late.”

“He lies,” Michaela said. “All he ever does now is lie. He pretends that he’s okay, but how can he be? John Paul’s well soft, he was always the good one, there’s no way he’s okay in there.”

“Maybe you should give him a little more credit,” Craig told her.

“Yeah, he _was_ shaggin’ a priest,” Michaela said thoughtfully. Craig found himself looking around in case anyone could hear them. “I mean, how did I not know that about him?” She focused on Craig. “I just want to know him. I just want to write his story. His real story. And I think you might be it.”

“I wasn’t even around at the beginning,” Craig dismissed. “I can’t help you tell his story.”

“Stop being a twat,” Michaela said irritably, like he was continually missing the point. “I want to tell _your_ story. You’ve got this piece of him that no one else has. I think it might be what’s always missing from mine.”

Craig sighed, a smile threatening at his lips, even though it was entirely inappropriate. He just loved the idea of having some part of John Paul that was only for him, something special and unique. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to give that away.

“Wouldn’t it be like betraying John Paul?” he asked out loud.

“I’ll give you my part of him if you give me yours,” Michaela said with a shrug. “Maybe we can both learn something.”

Craig thought about it. He still wasn’t sure that John Paul would be entirely happy with the arrangement. But Michaela was offering him the missing link, all of the years that he’d missed out on, all of those normal, boring days that he wished he could have been a part of. It was only going to be between the two of them. It was only because they loved him.

“Alright,” he agreed.

Michaela’s face lit up, like she hadn’t quite expected to win. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, somewhat reluctantly. “But this never goes any further than us. It’s not fair on John Paul if you go blabbing this stuff. I’m trusting you.”

“Course, don’t be daft,” Michaela dismissed. “Come on, you’ve got to come back to mine, let’s do it now.”

“What? Now?” Craig asked. “I’ve got things to do.”

“Oh, no, you are not getting out of this one, Craig Dean,” Michaela told him, grabbing hold of his arm as she started to walk. Craig didn’t really have much choice but to follow.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in when they got to the McQueen’s. Either way, Michaela led him straight up to her bedroom. Craig stopped just inside the doorway, looking around at all of John Paul’s things, savouring it. Michaela knelt down in front of the bed, reaching underneath it, and for one horrible moment Craig thought she was going to pull out those dirty magazines. Instead, she lifted up what looked like a large scrapbook, holding it out to Craig. He stepped into the room and took it off her, opening the first page. It was a newspaper article about John Paul.

“I saved them all,” Michaela told him, moving to sit on the bed. “Every single story or article or snippet about our John Paul in the paper, I cut them all out and saved them in there.”

Craig flicked through the pages. Some of the articles were the same ones that he’d read all that time ago, when the trial was going on, the ones that had drawn him to John Paul in the first place. He didn’t read them now, just scanned them. He found that he didn’t want to know what they were saying now that he knew John Paul for himself. It didn’t seem quite right.

“Not one of them got it right,” Michaela said. “None of them got him right.”

Craig closed the scrapbook. He didn’t want to read those stories, but he thought he understood why Michaela wanted to write her own, whether anyone would ever read it or not. He came to sit on the bed beside her, placing the scrapbook between them. Michaela turned, rummaging through a drawer by the bed. She came back with a dictaphone in her hand.

“You ready then?” she asked.

Craig forced a smile, even though he felt strangely nervous. “Ready when you are.”

Michaela flashed him a pleased little smile and pressed the record button, putting the dictaphone down on the scrapbook. “What first attracted you to convicted murderer John Paul McQueen?” she asked, putting on a clipped, professional voice. Craig gave her a look.

“That’s a little bit sensationalist, isn’t it?”

“It’s what people would want to know,” Michaela shrugged.

“I don’t cater to gossip,” Craig told her. “What do _you_ want to know?”

Michaela pouted slightly and her posture seemed to shrink. She looked young, vulnerable, like the only way she could deal with this was to put some distance between her and her subject, act like the journalist and pretend it had all happened to someone else. Craig wondered if that was why her stories had never worked out for her.

“Alright,” she said somewhat reluctantly, her voice softer and more childish now, more genuine. “Why’d you send him them books?”

“I don’t know,” Craig replied honestly.

“You don’t know?” Michaela asked incredulously, giving him an unimpressed look. “Oh, cheers, great story that’ll make.”

“Well, I don’t,” Craig told her. “I read those articles in the paper,” he said, motioning to the scrapbook, “And my mum worked with your Carmel and she used to come home with stories about Jimmy Hudson and what a sweetheart Carmel was and how terrible it was that all this had happened. And... I dunno. I’ve got sisters. I felt like maybe I understood. And John Paul, I didn’t know him, I don’t think I ever really met him, but I knew he wasn’t one of the bad kids at school. You know the ones, the troublemakers, everyone knows them whether they were in the same year or not. But I knew John Paul wasn’t one of them. He was just some kid. And he didn’t deserve that.”

“Surely there’s loads of people like him if you just wanted a lost cause to adopt though,” Michaela said.

“Maybe,” Craig agreed. “But this was in my backyard. I knew his family, I went to the same school. I suppose I felt a connection with him. Even then, something was drawing me to him. It was kind of sad really. I mean, the whole time I was sending him those books, I felt like we were mates or something. I had this little place in my life for him. And we’d never even spoken. I never even knew if he was getting the books or not. But I imagined this friendship between us. I imagined that I was helping him.”

“You were,” Michaela said. “For what it’s worth.”

Craig gave her a little smile. “Thanks.”

“So, why’d you wait a year to say owt?” Michaela asked. “Why didn’t you just tell him who you were from the start?”

“Because I was embarrassed,” Craig shrugged. “Because I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know if he’d want to know. I’m not the most outgoing bloke ever and I couldn’t find the right words anyway. To be honest, I only ever wrote to him because my sister, Steph, she convinced me it was a good idea.”

“And what happened when you finally did get in touch with each other?”

Craig sighed, thinking back on the well worn memory, that first time he’d seen John Paul face to face. He remembered how young he’d looked, how he’d made jokes and been kind of playful and yet there’d been something there, just below the surface, that he hadn’t let show through.

“I was really nervous the first time I went to the prison, I didn’t know what to expect, but it was good. I mean, we got on. And I liked him. And he seemed to like me,” Craig explained. “We had this connection. For real this time.”

“So did you fancy him then?” Michaela asked.

“No,” Craig dismissed. “Not at all. I mean, he was a bloke. Is a bloke. I don’t fancy blokes.”

“You what?” Michaela asked, wrinkling her nose at him.

“I’m not gay or anything,” Craig told her. “I just... something happened between us. It’s hard to explain. There’s something special about him. About us when we’re together. And I didn’t even really notice it until you outted him that time we went to visit him together.”

“Yeah, he was well annoyed about that,” Michaela said, something almost sulky in her voice like she didn’t think she deserved it. “How do you mean special, anyway? Special cos he turned you gay?”

“He didn’t turn me gay,” Craig said. “I’m not...” He sighed, deciding not to argue the point. “Special because, I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. I can’t even explain it. It’s different to friendship. It’s different to romantic feelings. It’s different to sexual... wants.” Michaela pulled a face at that. “It’s all of that, but it’s more than that. And I feel so inadequate every time I try to tell anyone about it because they’re never going to get it. I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t help your story, but I just can’t put it into words.”

“Is he the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning?” Michaela asked.

Craig smiled despite himself. “Yeah.”

“Is he the last thing you think about before you go to bed?”

Craig nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you sometimes get lost in intricate daydreams about him?”

“All the time,” Craig agreed.

“Do you start to miss him even before he’s gone?”

Craig felt a sadness clenching in his stomach. His jaw tensed with it. “I never stop missing him,” he said quietly.

Michaela nodded. “You’re in love,” she said, like it was as simple and commonplace as that. “I know lots of words to write about love.”

Craig snorted a little laugh. “Michaela, have you ever been in love?” he asked. “Real love.”

“No,” Michaela admitted more than a little petulantly. “But I’ve read about it loads.”

“It doesn’t really work like that,” Craig told her. “You have to experience it. And then it all makes sense.”

Michaela looked down, thinking about it. “Alright,” she said. “So you fell in love. Then what?”

“What do you mean, then what?” Craig asked.

“Well, you never even see each other,” Michaela said. “I mean, barely. And even when you do, what’s it like? Cos I know he’s not out in there. Isn’t it a right pain in the arse? I mean, is it really worth all that bloody hassle?”

Craig laid back on the bed, resting on his elbows. He hated that question. It was one that had come up countless times, but one that he’d never quite answered. It wasn’t about the hassle. It wasn’t about being worth it. It was about the fact that it’d somehow come to pass that he couldn’t live without this man in his life, that he didn’t want to. And he knew that it would always mean pain and heartache and longing and loneliness. He knew that it would always mean never quite being fulfilled, not emotionally, not physically. It would always mean sacrifice. But was it really sacrifice when the alternative was so unthinkable to him? Was he giving up anything, when he knew that it would never be a bigger loss than if he had to give up John Paul?

He addressed the question to himself again. Was it worth it? Would it ever really be worth it? What would leave him satisfied? The only thing he could think of was having John Paul in his arms and not having to care about who was watching. It was the answer that he’d known all along. But in his mind’s eyes, they weren’t ten, fifteen, twenty years older. Craig hadn’t spent half a lifetime waiting for him. It was now. It was today. An impossibility that nothing else could ever measure up to.

He felt a sadness washing over him at the realisation. This is why he’d never let himself ask the question. He’d been too afraid of the answer, even if he’d always known that true happiness with John Paul was unobtainable. Still, it gave him a final push towards something he’d been working up to all week. Because this wasn’t the end, it was still the beginning, and the rules could change at any time. Maybe having a clearer view of what he wanted would help drive him to get it. He thought it was quite possible that he’d go through anything to get that one moment with John Paul.

“I don’t regret it,” Craig said, which was definitely true, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “I wouldn’t take any of it back.”

Michaela moved to sit against the headboard, pulling her feet up onto the bed in front of her. “Is it weird that I’m kind of jealous of John Paul?” she asked. “I mean, not cos of you. You’re not even fit. Just because he can find this amazing, transcendent love while he’s locked up, and I can’t get any half-decent bloke to look twice at me.”

“Well, you’re bright enough,” Craig commented, looking at her neon clothes. “Don’t know how they can miss you.”

Michaela gave him a look. “Funny,” she sneered. She picked at her nails. “Why’d he hit you though? Seriously, I don’t get it. You two are like love’s young dream. It’s sickening. I can’t think of a thing you coulda done that’d make him do that to you.”

“I kissed him,” Craig said, not sure where the rush of honesty came from. Something about the fact that she’d stopped being so confrontational with him and had started to soften up, it had taken his defences away. He didn’t feel like he was under attack anymore. “I kissed him in the middle of the visiting hall.”

Michaela’s mouth opened, gaping at him. “You never!”

“I did,” Craig stated sadly. “I really, really did.”

“That is priceless,” Michaela exclaimed, some kind of natural joy coming over her at such a juicy piece of gossip. Then she got more serious. “You know he’ll probably get his head kicked in. Or worse.”

“I know,” Craig agreed. There were no excuses to make, no explanations to try and give. It was as simple as that really.

“So what now?” Michaela asked.

The question was too big for Craig to think about, even if he thought he might know the answer now. He looked at Michaela. “Have you ever read _Oh, the Places You’ll Go!_ by Dr Seuss?” he asked.

 _“Our Jacqui used to read that to me and John Paul when we were kids,” Michaela said. Craig found himself smiling._

 _“Did she?”_

 _“Yeah,” Michaela replied. “I dunno why. Think she thought she was our mum or summat. Used to treat us like a couple of Tiny Tears dolls. But, yeah, she read it to us all the time. Why?”_

 _Craig shook his head. “Nothing,” he dismissed. “It doesn’t matter.”_

 _He loved the image of John Paul having grown up with that book, having had it read to him by a loved one. It made him certain that it would be his favourite book and it gave him another tiny insight into John Paul as well. His dreams had probably been built around it, consciously or not. He would have set out into the world with every intention of moving mountains. Craig didn’t intend to let him give up on that dream just yet._

 _His thoughts were interrupted by Myra’s voice coming down the hallway. “Here, Michaela, have you seen my...” She stopped at the door and Craig sat up, feeling himself tense. “Oh, hello, love,” she said. “Didn’t know you were here.”_

 _“Yeah, sorry, I was just...” Craig began. “I’ll go.”_

 _“No, don’t be daft,” Myra dismissed, walking into the room. She stood in front of him and reached out, holding his chin with a gentle motherly firmness and angling his head to get a look at him. Craig wasn’t sure where to look. “Our Jacqui taught him how to fight,” she said. “So he can throw a decent punch.”_

 _“Yeah, I noticed,” Craig said dryly._

 _Myra nodded slightly and Craig had a feeling he was going to have to start answering awkward questions all over again. Instead, she took a step back, her hand falling away._

 _“So, you gonna stay for tea then?” she asked._

 _Craig looked at her, feeling completely thrown. “What?”_

 _“We’re havin’ shepherd’s pie,” Myra said. “Need to get a start on peelin’ the spuds actually. Do you want some?”_

 _“I’m sorry I made John Paul hit me,” Craig blurted out. He felt like one of them needed to mention it._

 _“The day anyone can _make_ that boy do anythin’, it’ll be a miracle,” Myra said. “You stayin’ or goin’?”_

“Um, staying,” Craig said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Course not,” Myra dismissed. “I offered, didn’t I? In fact the two of you can come downstairs and help me out.”

“Mum,” Michaela complained.

“No, it’s fine,” Craig replied. “I don’t mind helping.”

“We’ll have to invite you more often then,” Myra said, giving him a jokey little nudge before heading out of the room. Michaela gave a huff, reaching for the dictaphone and turning it off.

“We coulda got out of that if you weren’t so soft,” she complained.

Craig headed downstairs, Michaela stomping grumpily behind him, and he let Myra put him to work. As they were cooking, the various other McQueens came home, all of them checking out Craig’s bruised nose with varying degrees of subtlety. Craig felt kind of like he was under a microscope, even by sweet Tina who kept giving him smiles that looked suspiciously pitying. Craig thought he might prefer the straightforwardness of Jacqui and Mercedes to badly veiled pity.

“Yeah, well, they say love hurts,” Mercedes had said to him as she eyed him up on her arrival home, earning herself an elbow and glare from Myra. Craig didn’t really mind it. He could hardly argue with the sentiment.

They all sat down to dinner and Myra didn’t say grace. Craig was actually kind of glad about that. Still, he couldn’t help but remember Michaela’s comment last time, that she only said grace when Kieron was there. He felt sad for her that she’d been keeping up pretences for someone who’d been lying to her the whole time.

He’d just taken his first mouthful when his phone rang in his pocket. “Sorry,” he muttered through the food, taking it out with the intent of turning it straight off, but the number he saw on the display stopped him in his tracks. “It’s John Paul,” he stated dumbly, staring at it. There was a brief silence from everyone as the phone continued to ring.

“Well, bloody answer it then,” Jacqui told him.

“Right, yeah,” Craig said, shaking himself out of his reverie. He got to his feet, stepping into the living room. “Hi,” he said into the phone. He could feel everyone staring at him, listening, even with his back turned.

“Hi,” came the voice in response, quiet and melancholy. “It’s John Paul.”

“Yeah, I know,” Craig replied. “I...” He turned around. Everyone looked away quickly, like they weren’t eavesdropping. “Do you mind if I...?” He pointed vaguely towards the stairs.

“Yeah, of course, love,” Myra told him.

Craig nodded, taking the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t go out of the door, but it seemed rude to just leave like that. He was going to go into the bathroom, lock himself in and get a little privacy, but instead he found himself in John Paul’s old room, amongst his things. He closed the door behind him and leant against it.

“Who were you talking to?” John Paul asked.

“Your mum,” Craig said, unable to stop a little breath of laughter at the situation. “I was having tea with your family.”

“You’re in my house?” John Paul asked.

“I’m in your room actually,” Craig said, walking over to the bed and sitting down. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” John Paul replied. He didn’t sound alright. He sounded tired and fed up.

“Michaela said you only got out of segregation today,” Craig said.

“Yeah,” John Paul said again. “That’s why I haven’t phoned. No phone calls.”

“Why were you in there so long?” Craig asked. John Paul didn’t respond, there was just silence on the other end of the line. Craig felt like he was being shut out again. “Did I fuck it all up?” he asked.

“Craig,” John Paul responded, so many things in that one word, sadness and frustration and helplessness.

“Has anyone given you shit?” Craig asked, a desperate protectiveness coming over him. “Has anyone said anything about what I did?”

“Not in so many words,” John Paul replied. He paused, his voice quieter when he started talking again, so much so that Craig had to strain his ears. “I’ve had some looks. So far they’re not taking their chances. Dunno how long it’ll last, but I can take most of ‘em.”

Craig screwed his eyes shut. He hated to hear John Paul talk like that. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think. I just... God, I am such an idiot. I’m sorry, John Paul, I’m really, really...”

“Shouldn’t I be the one apologising?” John Paul interrupted.

“No,” Craig responded. “I didn’t give you much a choice, did I? I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Maybe we were both in the wrong,” John Paul said. “No, that’s not... It wasn’t wrong. What you... I wish that I could’ve... I wanted to. So much. But...”

“I know,” Craig assured him, nodding his head. “I know.”

“I think it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do,” John Paul told him.

Craig’s heart swelled at the sentiment. It wasn’t that he really doubted that John Paul wanted him, but he could never be certain, not in the circumstances. Not when he couldn’t be kissed back. But knowing that it had been so hard for John Paul to _not_ kiss him back was probably the clearest sign he was ever going to be offered. He wondered if it was so wrong of him to resign himself to whatever he could get.

“I thought you’d be really mad,” Craig said. “I thought you might try and shut me out.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation to your face, my hand’s pretty messed up from punching a wall,” John Paul told him.

“It’s not,” Craig said sadly. “I’d rather you take it out on me.”

“No phone privileges,” John Paul said. “And anyway, you didn’t deserve that. Even if you probably would’ve gotten it if you’d been around. I would’ve taken it out on anyone those first couple of days, I was just... I wanted to hurt something. And I hate that about myself. But I don’t know what else to do with all this shit, I hurt people or it just goes inwards. I don’t know how else to deal, it’s all just fucked.”

Craig could hear the desperation in his voice taking over from the calm detachedness of before. He wondered how long he’d had to psych himself up to make this phone call. He wondered how numb he’d had to make himself before he could bear to face Craig.

“Don’t let it turn inwards,” Craig told him. “Please, don’t let it turn inwards, John Paul, you can’t come back from that.”

“Oh, right, cos you’d know so fucking much about it, wouldn’t you, Craig?” John Paul spat out.

The words stung, but Craig took them. It occurred to him that it would probably be good if some of his inmates heard him saying Craig’s name with such spite and loathing. He hoped that someone had heard him. Maybe then they’d leave him alone.

There was a silence and Craig could tell that John Paul felt bad about his outburst. Somehow he just knew. There was something in the change of his breathing that told Craig he’d gone back to that sadness of the beginning of their conversation.

“When are they going to let you have visits again?” Craig asked. He wasn’t sure if brushing John Paul’s misplaced anger aside was condescending or not, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t want to dwell on it. He didn’t want to let John Paul dwell on it.

“You can’t come,” John Paul said. The words weren’t cruel, just honest and a little bit lost. “I mean, not...”

“I know,” Craig replied, even though it hurt to hear it. “I know that. I just meant, when can you see your family?”

“Not sure,” John Paul said. “Maybe next week. I hope next week. I made Michaela cry this morning. I feel like a total shit.”

“She’s survived,” Craig assured him with a little smile.

“Right, so...” John Paul began, hesitating. “I’m sorry about your face. And probably a million other things. And I’ll... I’ll get back to normal. As normal as I get. Things’ll, y’know...”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. They’d need to let things blow over, make sure there wasn’t going to be trouble, before Craig could go back there. “Are you still gonna call?” he asked, a hopefulness in his voice that he couldn’t hide. “I mean, if you need some space, that’s cool.”

“I don’t need space,” John Paul assured him. “I don’t want space. I want the opposite of space.”

“Okay, good,” Craig said. “Me too. I want the opposite of space.”

“Right,” John Paul stated. “So, mates, yeah? I mean, we’re cool and all that?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

“Cool,” John Paul said again.

Discontentment clouded in around Craig. Somehow, this just wasn’t a satisfying conclusion to nearly a week of worrying and hating himself. It was that word, ‘mates’, said with so much carelessness, it seemed hurtful. And he could tell himself a thousand times that John Paul was just covering his back like Craig wanted him to, but it didn’t stop the feeling that was welling up inside him. It didn’t stop the doubt.

“Hey, listen,” John Paul said. “Can you put Lucy on for a minute?”

Craig frowned, running the names of John Paul’s sisters through in his head in case he’d forgotten someone. “Who?” he finally asked.

“Can you just put Lucy on a minute?” John Paul repeated.

“Who’s Lucy?” Craig asked. “I don’t know anyone called...” He stopped, the pieces coming together in his mind all of a sudden. “Did you just make up Lucy so you could pretend you were talking to someone else?” he asked, hoping he was right or he’d look like a total idiot.

“Hi, babe,” John Paul responded softly. The words made Craig’s heart flutter.

“Hi,” he returned. “And you are really smart. And resourceful. And why didn’t we think of this ages ago?”

“I dunno,” John Paul replied. “Anyway, I just wanted to say, I want to say that I love you. I really love you. I’ve been thinking about that all week and I just... wanted to say it.”

Craig couldn’t speak, couldn’t even seem to breathe. His eyes brimmed with tears and his skin flushed pink and everything seemed to fade away expect for this one tiny moment of existence. It was like the most perfect thing that he’d never quite dared to imagine. It was funny really. He’d imagined all of the sex that they’d never be able to have, but he’d never felt right about imagining this.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I mean, I love you too,” he added quickly. “I love you.”

John Paul laughed slightly and Craig’s face broke out into a huge grin. He fell sideways on the bed, resting his head on the pillow. He breathed in, expecting it to smell like John Paul, but it didn’t of course. It smelt like perfume and hairspray.

“I’m laying on your bed right now,” Craig stated idly.

“Tease,” John Paul accused playfully.

“I wish you were here,” Craig continued. “Just to hold or something. Just to lay with me.”

“Yeah, me too,” John Paul said fondly. “Just don’t think about it too much. You’ll go crazy.”

“I intend to think about nothing else,” Craig said defiantly.

John Paul laughed again. It was amazing how carefree he’d turned in just a few moments. Maybe it was just the pretence that wore him down, the stress of getting found out. Underneath it all, everything seemed perfect. Craig clung to that fact. He catalogued this feeling of openness between them and stored it away so that he could use it to drive him through the harder patches that he knew were to come.

“Well, listen, sweetheart, I have to go anyway,” John Paul said.

“You just called me ‘sweetheart’,” Craig stated with something like giddiness.

“Yeah, I did,” John Paul agreed, his own voice just as happy sounding. “Is that condescending?”

“Probably,” Craig said. “I don’t care, I like it.”

There was that little laugh again from John Paul. “Okay, well, I’ll bear that in mind,” he said. “You gonna be okay? If I go now?”

“Yeah,” Craig responded. “Are you?”

“I’m good,” John Paul assured him. “It’s under control.”

“I hope so,” Craig replied. “Call me, yeah? In a couple of days or whatever.”

“I will,” John Paul promised. “Love ya.”

“Love ya,” Craig returned through a smile. The line went dead and he sighed. His head was kind of spinning, but in the best possible way, and his body felt heavy and strangely content. He laid on the bed, John Paul’s bed, staring at the ceiling, John Paul’s ceiling, and he wondered if he was being a total mug to believe that he could actually make a happy ending out of all this.

He kind of wanted to stay there all day, but he knew he should go back downstairs, face the barrage of questions they undoubtedly had for him. He had no idea what he was going to say. Once again, words failed him when it came to John Paul.

He opened the door to the bedroom, Michaela jumping backwards and looking away, like she hadn’t just had her ear pressed up to the door.

“Oh, didn’t know you were in there,” she said. “I just came to get my, um...”

“Give it up, Michaela,” Craig told her wearily. “Did you hear anything juicy?”

“If you call you actin’ like a girl ‘juicy’ then yeah,” she responded. Craig gave her a look. “Anyway, whatever, you better not of done owt on my bed, I have to sleep there,” she complained.

Craig rolled his eyes. “I’m going back downstairs.”

“Wait, hang on a sec,” Michaela said.

She walked past him into the room, taking a small, pink photo album from the desk. She started flicking through it as Craig stepped back into the room, watching her with interest. She stopped at a page, considered it for a moment, and then slid the photo out of the album.

“That’s a nice one,” she said, holding it out to Craig.

It was a picture of John Paul wearing a striped hoody and a pair of jeans, a slightly bashful smile on his face, like he didn’t really want his photo taken. He was sitting on a park bench somewhere and it looked like spring, the buds of flowers just starting to open up behind him.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, almost wistfully, staring at that smile of John Paul’s. “It is nice.”

“You can have it,” Michaela told him.

Craig looked up at her. “What?”

“Keep it,” Michaela said. “I’ve got loads.”

“Are you sure?” Craig asked.

Michaela nodded. “Just spare me the details of what you’re gonna do with it.”

Craig rolled his eyes. She couldn’t go two minutes without having some kind of dig at him.

“Well, thanks,” he said, looking at the photo again. “Really. I appreciate it.”

Michaela just shrugged. “We should probably go back down.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. He slid the photo into his pocket. “Hey, listen,” he said, stopping Michaela as she started for the door. “When you write this story of yours, if you write something, can you show it to me? I’d kind of like to see what you make of it.”

Michaela hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, alright, I suppose.”

“Thanks,” Craig smiled. Maybe it was a long shot, but he wanted to see if she could find the words he’d been struggling all this time for.


	28. Chapter 28

It was seven weeks before they decided that enough time had passed for Craig to visit the prison again. It felt like a lifetime. They spoke often on the phone, sometimes as themselves and sometimes as the fictional Lucy. Craig loved both kinds of phone calls. He loved the matey banter and the teasing that had always taken place in their phone calls, loved the fact that they still had this natural friendship underneath all of the complicated stuff they had to wade through. He loved the other phone calls too though, the ones where John Paul could say whatever he wanted without having to worry about who was listening, where they could get mushy and say ‘I love you’ and act like a real couple, no barriers. It was like their relationship was split in two and the halves had yet to find a way to join together.

They wrote too, long letters that had somehow, over the seven weeks, turned into exchanges of life philosophies. They talked about the way they saw the world, the things that they’d love to do, the things that had shaped them, the things they believed in. It was funny really because, in their time apart, they’d actually grown closer. They’d learnt more about each other and more about themselves as well.

Craig had missed him though, had missed sitting across that table from him almost more than he could stand. He missed just being able to stare at him. He was glad to have the photo to stare at now, the one he kept by the side of his bed and looked at every morning before he got up and every night before he went to sleep. It wasn’t the same though. The photo was unchangeable. There was no expression or emotion, just that static little bashful smile. Craig loved that smile, but he missed all those other wonderful things John Paul’s face did when they were gazing at each other, flirting or laughing or getting swept away by the melancholy longing. The photo offered him none of those things. It lacked the vital interaction the two of them came to exchange without words. That was the thing that Craig missed the most.

The only thing that really kept Craig going, through the phone calls and the letters and the daydreams, was his plan. Every day it solidified further in his mind, and he felt like he knew exactly what he needed to do. He didn’t mention it to John Paul though, not yet. It was a conversation they needed to have face to face. He couldn’t afford to give John Paul any room to hide from him. He figured he probably had one shot at this and he couldn’t afford to mess it up.

When he finally had that visiting order in his hands, he felt so many emotions rush through him that he couldn’t quite manage to grasp hold of any of them. First of all, he was excited and relieved and giddy and content, but it would have been a lie if he’d said he wasn’t apprehensive about going back there too. He didn’t really know what he’d be walking into. John Paul didn’t seem to have gotten too much stick over the kiss, mostly stupid comments that he could ignore. He’d only gotten into a couple of fights, and he said they weren’t too bad. He promised Craig that nothing _really bad_ had happened because of it. In this context, they both knew what _really bad_ meant.

So Craig wasn’t quite sure how the other inmates would react to his re-emergence. He dreaded making things worse for John Paul all over again, but he knew that neither of them could realistically wait much longer. They needed the comfort of sharing the same space. They needed to be able to look into each other’s eyes and acknowledge the truths that they’d shared over the last seven weeks.

Steph was sceptical about whether he should go back at all. Not that she’d said so in as many words. They didn’t really speak about John Paul much at all. Craig had never explained to her why John Paul had chosen to punch him in the face and stain his clothes with blood, and she’d given up on trying to get it out of him. She just looked at him kind of sadly every once in a while, like he was out of his depth but he refused to own up to it. Craig didn’t know how to explain to her that he was exactly where he wanted to be for the first time in his life.

He was glad to have the McQueens, who seemed to understand him and, perhaps more importantly, understand John Paul. They never seemed to doubt what he and John Paul shared. Craig didn’t think he’d ever stop appreciating the way they’d welcomed him into their family, giving him a place to go where he could just act like John Paul’s boyfriend without having to make apologies for it.

On the day of the visit, Craig found himself spending longer than usual in the shower, and not just because one of the many emotions reverberating through his body caused his hand to travel downwards. He styled his hair and he spent some time picking out his outfit and it occurred to him that he was acting as though he was getting ready to go on a date. The thought made him smile with giddiness while he rolled his eyes at himself in the same breath.

When he arrived at the prison, he ignored the way his stomach flipped in nervousness and forced himself to walk into the building, going through the familiar motions that had always been distasteful to him. As he stepped up to be searched, he recognised the guard who had picked him up off the floor after John Paul had knocked him down. Craig felt his cheeks heat and avoided his gaze, allowing the man to pat him down. There didn’t seem to be any recognition from him, so maybe Craig was overreacting. He took a breath and walked on, stepping out into the visiting hall.

His eyes flitted around as though he expected everyone to stare at him. No one seemed to so much as glance in his direction. His eyes fell on John Paul and everything in him froze, just staring. He felt a warmth spreading within him, something pleasant and indescribable. His lips turned up into a small smile without him even realising it and he started to move forward, everything else forgotten.

“Hi,” he greeted simply as he fell into the chair opposite John Paul.

“Hi,” John Paul responded, the word soft and welcoming.

They stared at each other and, just like that, Craig felt more fulfilled than he had in seven weeks. He felt complete. It made him a little sad. He didn’t think he could deal with only being complete for two hours every month. How was that ever supposed to be enough? He pushed the thoughts away for now. He needed to stay focused. He needed to get this right.

“So, you finished that book yet?” John Paul teased. Craig gave him a look.

“You know I have,” he responded. “Finished it ages ago. And I know which one’s your favourite.”

“Go on then,” John Paul challenged playfully, raising his eyebrows at Craig. Craig couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s obviously Dr. Seuss,” he stated. “In fact, I bet that’s your reading level, isn’t it? Dr. Seuss books and maybe _Peter and Jane._ I bet you can’t even read any of that other stuff you go on about.”

“Get lost,” John Paul dismissed, even though his eyes were smiling. “I just like that book. I grew up with it. Means a lot to me. And the thing I love about it the most is that it’s honest, it’s real. It doesn’t make out like life is some fairytale, because it’s not. But it still inspires greatness. It tells you to never give up and it makes you believe it. Which is pretty special for a kid’s book.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. He loved listening to John Paul talking about things that he cared about, things that he felt passionate about. It was the way that his eyes kind of lit up and his voice got quicker, like he couldn’t wait to get the words out. His careful restraint fell away and he unintentionally gave this insight into himself.

“I think _The Beach_ is really good too though,” John Paul added. “I really like that book. I couldn’t put it down the first time I read it.”

“Yeah, no, I enjoyed it,” Craig agreed eagerly. “Got really into it actually. You were right about the story drawing you in.”

“See, the thing I love about it is that you have this character that’s flawed, and maybe not entirely sane, but you kind of root for him,” John Paul said. “You know that he’s losing his mind, but you root for him anyway. And his narration, it’s totally unapologetic, right up to the end. It’s real. That’s what I really love about books, I love when they’re real. When you find a way to relate to them, whether you’ve ever lived in a secret beach colony or not.”

Craig smiled. He loved the way John Paul’s mind worked.

“And I know it’s not as hopeful as _Oh, the Places You’ll Go!_ , I know he kind of gets it all wrong, but I still think there’s a message in there,” John Paul continued. “We make mistakes, but it’s about the experiences, isn’t it? Like that last line – _‘I carry a lot of scars.’_ He takes it with him and he learns from it. Maybe it’s okay to get it wrong so long as you keep going. Maybe you can get it right later, without having to let go of the past.”

Craig looked down at the table. That last line had resonated with him too when he’d read the book. He hadn’t compared it to _Oh, the Places You’ll Go!_ though. He’d compared it to _The Shawshank Redemption._ He’d compared it to _‘I hope.’_ The two lines seemed completely at odds with each other. One was about letting go, the other about not giving up. He could appreciate what John Paul was saying about making mistakes, but he didn’t want to end up being someone with nothing but scars to show for it.

“John Paul,” he said, looking up at him, his voice kind of questioning without meaning to be. John Paul seemed to study him for a couple of seconds before responding, as though he knew something big was coming.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Craig said. “Or I... Yeah, I wanted to ask you something.”

John Paul looked at him curiously. “Okay,” he said with a certain amount of uncertainty.

Craig chewed on his lip. His stomach was tying itself in knots. He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring down at the table between them. A nervous little laugh escaped from him. “You know, I’ve been thinking about how to say this for seven weeks, and I still don’t have a clue,” he said, glancing up at John Paul. He sighed. “Look, it’s just...” He shook his head. John Paul was looking more worried the longer he dithered over his words. He just needed to spit it out. “I want you to appeal,” he stated. He braced himself for what he knew would be the inevitable fallout.

John Paul stared at him. Craig could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, but his face stayed mostly impassive, frozen in some kind of careful indifference. Craig could read those eyes though. He could read the panic and the confusion that John Paul was trying to keep locked inside him. He saw something like resentment leaking out.

“What?” John Paul asked, his voice strained from holding back.

Craig didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really anything else to say. John Paul understood him perfectly. He watched as John Paul let out a slightly shuddering breath and then his face crumpled and he just looked kind of lost and devastated. He looked around the room, like he needed to check if anyone else had noticed.

“I know,” Craig said. “I know how you feel about it. I do. But I just... can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

John Paul blinked. For an awful moment, Craig thought he might cry. His gaze wandered slowly downwards until he was staring at the table and Craig couldn’t read them anymore.

“I don’t mean...” Craig began, struggling for the words that he felt like a total failure for not being able to grasp. “I _will_ do it,” he said. “I made a promise, I know. I said I can wait. And I’ll wait.” John Paul looked up at him again. It was like he couldn’t bring himself to hope anymore. “I just don’t see why I’m the only one putting anything on the line,” Craig finished.

“I’m not putting anything on the line?” John Paul asked. Craig guessed the words were supposed to be incredulous, but it was like John Paul’s heart wasn’t really in it, like he didn’t quite believe himself anymore. Or like he was too scared to fight for this because he knew he was going to lose anyway. It broke Craig’s heart, but it only made him more determined to not give up.

“I can’t sit here and watch you not try,” Craig told him. “You’ve resigned yourself to it all, to this life, and it’s... If you try, and it doesn’t work, and you end up having to stay here, I can deal with that. I’ll stand by you. I just can’t deal with you putting us through this when there’s a way out.”

John Paul looked petulant. He looked like a little kid that had just been told off. Craig guessed that, in a way, that’s exactly what he was. Sometimes Craig forgot that he was a teenager, that he shouldn’t really have to deal with any of these things at all. It didn’t seem fair. That wasn’t an excuse for giving up though, and Craig refused to take it as one. He thought it was about time someone gave him some tough love, much as he knew he wasn’t necessarily the best person to do it. John Paul was just one big weak spot with him. He wasn’t sure in reality how far he’d be able to push him without needing to just hold him and comfort him. If he was honest, he was probably there already.

“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” John Paul asked. His voice was blank, resigned, like he’d known this was coming from the start. It hurt Craig that he thought like that, but he wasn’t really surprised.

“If it is, it’s a pretty shit one,” he said honestly. “I’ve got no intention of walking away. If you don’t want to do it then...” He didn’t want to say he’d still be there, didn’t want to give John Paul an excuse, but it was true. “I just think it’s really unfair if you’re not willing to try. After everything.”

“You’re the one who wanted this,” John Paul said defensively. “You can’t turn around and change the terms now, Craig. _That’s_ unfair.”

“I’m not changing the terms,” Craig insisted. “I just... didn’t think this was going to be so hard. And I don’t understand. What have you got to lose? I know it must be scary, but...”

“You weren’t there,” John Paul snapped. “You don’t know what it was like. You can’t ask me to do that again.”

“Tell me,” Craig implored. “Tell me what it was like.”

John Paul screwed his eyes shut. He shook his head. Craig felt utterly helpless. He wanted to reach out to him, but he didn’t know how. Finally, John Paul opened his eyes again. He looked down at his own hands, like they somehow held the answer.

“I can’t talk about this,” he said quietly. “I’ve never told that story. Not since the trial.” He looked up, meeting Craig’s eyes. There was something so exhausted about him, like his body and mind were going to give up at any moment. “Craig...” he said brokenly, begging him to stop. Craig knew that meant he had to push harder.

“Talk to me,” he said. “All I want to do is help you.”

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. “And I hope you know that good intentions don’t actually count for shit. Trust me, I know.”

“They’re good intentions,” Craig said. “They count for a lot.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” John Paul stated. He was being pedantic. Craig kind of wanted to smack him around the head.

“Well, it would mean a lot to me,” Craig said. “Just for you to try. Whatever the end result. Because that’s what it’s about. The gesture.”

“It’s not a gesture,” John Paul insisted. “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do, Craig. You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not like I’m just going to go ask someone if I can leave and they say yes or no. You’re asking me to go through months of hell.”

“Wouldn’t it be worth it?” Craig asked. “If it worked. It’d be worth it for me.”

“You’re not the one who has to go through it,” John Paul muttered. He looked at Craig. “It wasn’t just me, alright? It was all of them. My mum and my sisters, especially Carmel. They all had to get up there and be questioned. I can’t put everyone through that. And it’s not going to make a difference. I practically handed it to them on a plate. They built up this case against me and it was... They were wrong. They got it wrong, but they even had me halfway convinced at some points. I couldn’t really argue with what they said. They just got the motives totally wrong.”

“So prove it,” Craig said. “You should _want_ to do it. Prove everybody wrong.”

“But I can’t,” John Paul insisted. “Even if I had a different prosecution, they’d just bring up the same things. Those same three stupid things. It wouldn’t change anything. I still look guilty as sin when you state the facts like they did.”

“Why? What happened?” Craig asked. He wracked his brains for everything he knew about the trial, about the conviction, but it wasn’t really much. The papers never printed the exact details. He had no idea what three things John Paul was referring to.

John Paul sighed. He glanced at the clock on the wall and then looked around the room, like he expected everyone to be staring at him or listening in on their conversation. Even the people nearest didn’t seem to have the slightest bit of interest in them. People were too wrapped up in their own visitors. That was how it appeared to Craig. He didn’t know if John Paul was looking for something else.

“If I tell you, if I explain it,” John Paul began, “then you can stop going on about it. You can give up on this stupid idea. Because it’s just never going to happen.”

“Okay,” Craig agreed. He wasn’t really agreeing to give up, just agreeing to listen. Agreeing to understand.

John Paul looked around the room again. Craig didn’t take his eyes off him. He watched as John Paul moved his chair in, leaning closer, his eyes meeting Craig’s briefly before he looked down at his own hands again, playing with them while he spoke. It struck Craig as a very childlike thing to do.

“They had a flat in the village, Carmel and Jimmy,” John Paul began. “Before they moved in together, he was fine. I mean, he was overprotective, but you could write that off as love. His temper didn’t start up until she moved in with him. He started being really controlling and when she didn’t do what he said, he’d just lose it with her. I don’t know how long it’d been going on before we found out. I know that we’d known about it far too long when I finally decided to do something about it.”

He shifted in his chair. Craig wanted to put his hands on top of John Paul’s fidgeting ones, wanted to comfort him. He knew that it wasn’t a possibility though. He couldn’t do anything to help him right now.

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, after her coming round to ours in tears again, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t watch him do that to her. We’d tried to get her out before and she’d always made excuses for him. I think she was just terrified of what he’d do to her if she tried it. But we had this really long talk, the two of us, and I think she must have had enough, because she agreed with me when I said she needed to come home. So we went round to the flat and we got all her stuff while Jimmy was at work. She was so jumpy and tense the whole time, it was awful, I hated seeing her like that. She was nothing like my dizzy sister that had moved there in the first place. It broke my heart. I couldn’t wait to get her out of there. When we got back home and I closed that door I just felt such a huge relief. I actually thought that we’d gotten away with it.”

He gave Craig this darkly ironic look. Craig couldn’t bring himself to smile at it. It didn’t seem right.

“Well, anyway, everyone was out, it was just me and Carmel in the house,” John Paul said. “We had a cup of tea and Carmel finally stopped shaking. We talked about getting her settled in her old room again. She actually smiled for the first time that I could remember. And then there was the knock on the door. Banging on the door. Jimmy was shouting and yelling and demanding that we let him in. He was kicking the door, punching it, and it was making these sickening, dull thuds. So, after a couple of minutes of that, I went over and I opened the door. And that was the first strike against me. Because I let him in. I invited him into my home. Lured him inside. Like hell. I just didn’t want him to kick the door down, because he would’ve done. But they said if he was really a threat then I never would’ve opened that door, I wouldn’t have cared about him kicking the door in. These people clearly hadn’t grown up with my mother. I didn’t want to have to explain to her why she had no front door. I mean, it’s common sense, what was I supposed to do? You don’t let someone kick your door in. You make them bloody stop kicking it. So I did.”

Craig found himself nodding slightly. It made sense to him, and yet so did the prosecution’s arguments. He hated himself for thinking that. It wasn’t that he didn’t have total faith in what John Paul was telling him, in his version of things, it’s just that he could appreciate how easily it could be twisted to mean something else. It was all like some horrible, sticky grey area.

“He pushed past me and went straight for Carmel who was in the kitchen,” John Paul said. “He started shouting and calling her all sorts. I mean, the things he was saying to her. How can you say those things to someone you’re supposed to love?”

He looked at Craig, his eyes searching, like he was expecting an answer. Craig didn’t have one. John Paul swallowed, his eyes falling away, and he carried on with his story.

“They argued, or, well, I guess it wasn’t really an argument, he was just shouting at her,” John Paul said. “And then I started shouting at him, telling him to get out, to leave her alone. I threatened to phone the police, but I didn’t. I didn’t phone them. I don’t think I was ever even going to. And that was the second thing I did wrong. They said that if I was that scared of him, if he was that dangerous, why didn’t I phone the police? Instead of shouting at him like some kind of useless idiot, why didn’t I phone the police? And I don’t know why, I really don’t. Everything was too immediate, I couldn’t step away, couldn’t remove myself to go make a phone call.”

He shook his head at his own short-sighted actions. Craig could see how heavy all of this weighed on him, how he blamed himself, how he wasn’t even close to forgiving what he’d done and what he’d neglected to do.

“The thing is, we never phoned the police, none of us, we’d never reported him once. He’d been hurting Carmel for months and we never made an official complaint about him, so we could sit there in court and tell them all of the things that he did until we were blue in the face, but there was no record of any of it. It might as well have not happened. And so they said that it didn’t. They said we made it up in hindsight to justify what I did, like I was some kind of monster and they had to cover for me. Carmel was sitting there, sobbing, spilling her guts, and they called her a liar. I couldn’t believe it. They said there was no evidence to back any of it up. They gave her an exam and they said all the bruises were from the fight the night he died, the night he was supposedly fighting for his life. We were the ones fighting for our lives. They made him sound like the victim and they took the real victim and they pulled her apart even worse than Jimmy Hudson had in the first place.”

John Paul stopped. There were tears in his eyes and Craig could tell how hard it was for him to think about these things. He’d probably locked it all away somewhere so that it couldn’t hurt him anymore, and Craig was making him dredge it all up again. He felt bad about the things he could see passing over John Paul’s face, but he knew this was a positive thing. Whether John Paul knew it or not, this was the first step to things changing.

“Anyway, that’s not the point,” John Paul said, absently shaking his head. “It’s that night. Jimmy was shouting at Carmel and I was shouting at Jimmy and then he just moved and he grabbed her by the hair and tried to drag her with him. He used to do that a lot, pull her hair. I always thought it was a sissy thing to do, but it’s actually pretty smart. Pulling hair doesn’t leave battered wife bruises. He knew how to hurt her without leaving a mark. That used to give me chills, that he thought about it enough to do it properly. If he lost his temper and slapped her then I could maybe understand it, but this was just... sick. So he pulled her and I grabbed her and I managed to get him off her. Then he punched me in the face and I punched him back and, I dunno, we just went for each other. We fought and Carmel was screaming at us to stop, was begging him to get off me, and then he grabbed her again and tried to get her towards the door. I got up and hit him again, tried to prise his hands off her. Some of her bruises were just from where he was holding onto her so tightly. Most of them were from where he threw her against the kitchen cabinets and kicked her though. She was fighting him and he didn’t like it. He’d lost it. He didn’t care about leaving marks anymore, he just wasn’t going to leave without her, I knew he wasn’t. That’s when I got the knife.”

A slight shudder went through Craig, even as he tried to stop it. He’d never been able to imagine John Paul actually killing anyone and part of him wanted to stop John Paul there, not hear the end of the story. He was scared of how he might feel. But he’d started this and he needed to see it through. They both needed to see it through. It was the only way they’d ever be able to move past it.

John Paul’s breaths were measured now, a conflict painted over his features. He wasn’t looking at Craig, hadn’t looked at him for a while now. He wasn’t quite hiding, just concentrating. The details were bringing themselves to life before him and he was trying to relay them to Craig and trying not to fall apart while he did it.

“I wasn’t going to use it,” he said numbly. “I never meant to use it. I thought it’d scare him off, or just make him lay off her long enough for me to think of what the hell I was supposed to do, because I had no idea. He was beating up my sister, really hurting her, and I didn’t know what else to do. I just needed him to stop. And he did. He stopped and he laughed at me, this cruel kind of manic laugh, and he said I didn’t have the balls. And then he kicked her in the head. She was crying and begging and it was just awful. It was inhumane. And I went for him. Not with the knife, with everything I had, I just ploughed into him and we both fell to the floor. We punched and kicked and rolled around. Carmel got up beside me. I told her to run, but she didn’t move. She just stood there. She was still crying, her makeup was all down her face. I always remember that. She hated it when her makeup wasn’t perfect.”

A tragic little smile came over John Paul’s face, one that was twisted with such sadness. Craig hated it. He’d never seen John Paul look like that before. Every instinct in his body told him to make it better.

“Jimmy was still taunting her, still threatening her, while he was fighting with me,” John Paul continued. “He said he’d kill me if she didn’t go back with him. He said it would be all her fault. He called her pathetic and worthless. He called her a whore and a tease. I pinned him down and I hit him and hit him and I knew I wasn’t going to win. He was bigger than me and he flipped me over and... I think the first one was an accident. I still had the knife in my hand and... I don’t remember trying to stab him. But the blade was in his chest and then his hands were around my neck. I can remember choking, remember everything going dark around the edges, and I thought I was going to die, I really did. I thought Carmel was going to have to watch. I could hear her screaming. I kicked at him frantically and I must have got him hard between the legs because I managed to flip us over again. Then I did it. I didn’t know what else to do, it was just instinct. Carmel started screaming even louder, this sickening sound, but I just kept going, I kept doing it until he stopped moving. His eyes didn’t close, they were still open, just staring blankly upwards. There was nothing there. Blood was spreading out over the kitchen floor and the knife just kind of fell from my hand and clattered onto the floor. I was covered in it. It must’ve been from the first one, when he was on top of me. I clamoured off him and I crawled over to Carmel who’d slunk back down to the floor. We cowered there together, holding onto each other and crying like little kids. We didn’t move for hours, not until mum and Jacqui came home.”

Craig rubbed a hand over his face. He’d tried not to react to the story, tried not to show any distaste, but it was just so hard to hear. How could he not be affected by a story like that? It didn’t change things though. He was certain that it didn’t change things. It only made him more determined for John Paul to tell the truth, no matter how unpleasant that truth was. He was protecting his own life and he was protecting his sister’s life too. He didn’t understand how anyone could hear that story and take Jimmy Hudson’s side.

“The thing I remember about when they came home is the lack of sound,” John Paul said. “They didn’t say anything, nothing at all. They just looked at the scene in front of them and they worked it all out for themselves. Mum was the first one to speak. She said that I needed to wash my hands. I had blood all over them. I said that we needed to phone the police. She said that, yeah, we did, but it would look better if I washed my hands first. Then she took Carmel away from me, took her over to the sofa, and I remember feeling so alone. She was saying these quiet, comforting things to her, but I couldn’t hear what they were. Then Jacqui crouched down in front of me and touched my hair and pulled me to my feet. At which point I threw up all over myself. As soon as she let go, I just slid right back to the floor again. She got a wet cloth and she cleaned me up and then we phoned the police.”

He took a measured breath. He was lost in the memories, Craig could tell he was.

“But, yeah, that turned out to be the third mistake, the one that sent me down,” John Paul said. “Washing my hands. They said I was destroying evidence, perverting the course of justice. They knew that I’d had blood on my hands because I’d left bloody handprints on Carmel’s clothes, but when I was arrested, there was nothing there. They said those were the actions of a guilty man. My mum had only wanted me to do it because she thought it’d make me look _less_ guilty. She was trying to help. But they just twisted it all around, like they had everything else. I’d invited him into my house, the police had no history of violence on him, I never phoned them that night, and, after I was done killing him, I washed away the evidence. So you can see how it looked. You can see what they did with the truth. And, yeah, I can kick myself over those stupid mistakes now, but it’s too late. It’s too late, Craig. It’s done. I have nothing to back up my side of the story. And I can’t let them do that to my family again, it almost destroyed them last time. Carmel was in pieces. Can you imagine going through months of abuse only to be told that you fabricated the whole thing? It messed with her head. It was cruel. It was like something he used to do. And my mum. She was so guilt ridden over making me wash my hands. She was only trying to help. She sat there and cried too. They even got Michaela up. She was sixteen years old and they made her sit in the dock and they asked her questions about me and twisted everything she said. And they asked her about Carmel and Jimmy, made her say the horrible things that she knew had happened, and then they called her a liar too. They did it to all of us. If I went for an appeal, they’d put everyone through that again. They’re getting on with their lives, Craig. And they should be. I’m not dragging them down again. I don’t even stand a chance. Nothing has changed. This is my lot in life now. I’ve accepted that. You need to accept it too, or you need to...”

He didn’t finish that sentence. Craig was glad that he didn’t finish it. It was clear that he couldn’t. He looked drained, exhausted. His eyes shone with tears that were stubbornly refusing to fall and his face looked different. He looked like he couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand the potential he held to ruin the lives of anyone who was stupid enough to care about him. And that had been the problem all along. Deep down, John Paul simply didn’t like himself. He’d bought into the lies that the prosecution had told him and it’d destroyed any self-esteem that he might have once had. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the people who did care about him, he just couldn’t understand why he deserved it.

“I think they’d do it,” Craig assured him. “If it’d help you, they’d do it. They want to see you out of here, John Paul.”

“Don’t,” John Paul said sadly, like Craig was telling him some lie to make him feel better.

“Just think about it,” Craig said. “Don’t dismiss it. Please. I need you to think about it. For me. For what we have. Because are you seriously telling me you don’t want this to get better? It could get so much better, John Paul. It doesn’t have to hurt like this.”

John Paul gazed at him. The sadness was still there, but there was something else as well now. Longing, or maybe tentative hope. He could see it just as clearly as Craig could, he wanted this just as badly. Craig took that as an affirmative answer, permission to move forward with this. John Paul might not be willing to say it, might not even know that the decision was ticking over in his mind, but Craig could see it, could see the way he wasn’t fighting actively against it like he was when the idea was first brought up. That little bit of give told Craig that this was still worth fighting for, whether John Paul claimed he was able to go through with it or not.

John Paul looked up at the clock and Craig followed his gaze. They had twenty minutes left. It simply wasn’t long enough. John Paul gave a soft sigh and leaned onto his forearms, his body moving closer to Craig’s. Neither of them said anything. For twenty minutes, neither of them said a thing. They just sat, their eyes occasionally meeting as they savoured the time they had in one another’s company. They could talk later, on the phone, in the letters. Now didn’t seem like the time. They just wanted to be together. Craig let himself dream that, one day, they could do it without a time limit.


	29. Chapter 29

Craig was like a man on a mission. A very amateur mission. He wasn’t going to be solving world peace anytime soon, that was for sure. If he had an internet connection that worked more than fifty percent of the time, he might have been onto something. The truth of the matter was though, he had no idea what he was talking about. Legal jargon was like a foreign language to him and, if he was honest, he was having a hard time understanding some of it. He had to start right down at the basics, defining exactly what a life sentence meant and working up to how someone might appeal one. It was time consuming to say the least.

When his internet connection broke down on him for the third time that morning, Craig nearly threw his laptop out of the window. Instead, he decided to pack it up and head over to The Dog. If anyone would have a reliable internet connection, it was be Darren. He needed his broadband to download all his porn.

Jack was standing behind the bar at The Dog, wiping down glasses. He looked up, spotting Craig as he walked in and giving him a smile. “Alright, son?”

“Yeah,” Craig replied, making his way over to him. “Was just wondering if I could use your internet? I’m trying to do some research and ours is being a nightmare.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to it,” Jack told him. “Help yourself.”

Craig smiled at him. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Oh, and if you see Darren up there, send him down, will you?” Jack added. “He’s the only person I know who can be late to work when all he has to do is walk down the stairs.”

“I think you’re forgetting his complicated beauty routine,” Craig responded, walking around the bar.

“I’ll give him complicated if he doesn’t get himself down here pronto,” Jack stated.

Craig nodded. “I’ll pass the message on,” he told him, heading up the stairs.

He settled himself on the sofa, breathing a sigh of relief when he connected successfully to the internet. He clicked on his favourites and opened up the folder of links he’d titled ‘John Paul’. He knew that the solution he was searching for had to be somewhere in those pages. He was just starting to get back into it when Darren appeared.

“Oh, hello,” he said, looking Craig up and down. “What’re you up to? Looking for Thai brides?”

“Jack wants you downstairs,” Craig told him. “You’re late.”

Darren glanced at his watch and then leaned against the wall, staring at Craig like he was considering him. Craig finally snapped, looking up at him.

“What?” he demanded.

“Was just wondering what could’ve possibly drawn you here,” Darren stated. “You don’t usually grace us with your presence.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Craig muttered, looking back at his screen. “Just need a reliable internet connection, that’s all.”

“Must be something pretty important then,” Darren commented, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Haven’t you got pints to pull?” Craig pointed out.

“I’ll have more than that to pull if I have my way,” Darren said, stepping away from the wall. He gave Craig a cheesy wink and then headed down the stairs.

Craig rolled his eyes as he listened to Darren’s retreating footsteps. He found himself looking around the room and he wondered at the fact that this place didn’t really feel like home anymore. He’d lived with Steph for over a year now and he’d lived in Halls the year before that. Still, he had a lot of memories in this place, some from before he even lived there. Memories of Natalie, then, later, in the same set of rooms, memories of Darlene. He wondered if his terrible taste in women had said something about his sexuality all along. He soon dismissed the casual thought though. This had nothing to do with sexuality. It was simply about a connection that couldn’t be denied, a connection that transcended all of his usual preferences.

He gave something pathetic and girly like a sigh, allowing himself to revel in his thoughts of John Paul for another moment before he forced himself to focus again. The sooner he worked his way through this, the better. It was becoming obvious that there was so much to be done and Craig could hardly wait to get started. He hadn’t felt this productive in a long time.

By the time Frankie came home, he’d had a couple of solid hours with a decent internet connection and he felt like he had a plan; a proper plan, rather than a set of ideas and daydreams that he had no idea how to make come true.

“Hello, love,” Frankie greeted, placing her shopping bags down on the table. “Jack said you were here. Don’t see enough of you nowadays.”

“Sorry,” Craig said. “Been kind of busy.”

Frankie nodded. “Everything alright, is it?”

“Yeah,” Craig replied. “Yeah, fine. Good.”

Frankie moved over, sitting by his side. She looked at his screen and Craig could see her frown slightly. “Criminal justice?” she read.

“It’s for college,” Craig lied.

“College?” Frankie asked. “I thought you’d finished with college for the summer.”

“Well, yeah, I have, it’s just...” Craig struggled. He gave a sigh, looking at Frankie. He was sick of hiding the truth. He was sick of acting like this was something to be ashamed of. It wasn’t, he knew that. He just had a feeling that his mother would see it differently. “Listen, if I tell you something, will you promise not to go mad?”

“Well, I can hardly promise that, can I?” Frankie responded.

“Oh, right, cheers,” Craig replied, looking away.

“You obviously think I’m _going_ to go mad if you have to ask that in the first place, Craig,” Frankie pointed out. Craig squeezed his eyes shut. “Look, just say whatever it is you have to say,” Frankie stated. “We can work it out afterwards.”

Craig sighed, opening his eyes again. She wasn’t exactly filling him with confidence. He turned to face her. “Well, you already know that I’m mates with John Paul,” he began. “That I visit him and write to him and...”

“Yes,” Frankie said tightly.

“Yeah, well, he’s kind of more than a mate,” Craig said awkwardly.

Frankie stared at him. Craig stared back, a blush rising up on his cheeks. He wondered if he should be the one to break the silence, or whether he should just let it sink in for her. The wait felt like an eternity.

“I knew something like this was going to happen,” Frankie stated, her gaze falling away, like she was talking to herself. “I knew that he was getting under your skin. I could tell by the way you were talking about him that time. I should’ve put a stop to it then.”

“Put a stop to it?” Craig asked incredulously. “Mum, I’m not a kid.”

Frankie looked at him. “You’re easily led,” she stated. “You’ve always been easily led. You’ll always do anything for anyone, and it’s a lovely quality, but not when it leads to things like this.” She looked down again, clearly fretting.

“Look, mum, he’s not leading me anywhere,” Craig insisted. “I made the decision on my own.”

“Oh, yeah, I bet you did,” Frankie replied. “The clever ones always make you think it was your idea.”

Craig sighed. “I don’t think you’re understanding this.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” Frankie said, looking at him sharply. “I don’t know what notions he’s filled your head with to make you think this is a good idea. And now he’s got you working on his case, has he? That’s all he’s after, those brains of yours. Once you’ve gotten him out, I bet he won’t even look at you twice.”

The words stung, even though Craig knew they weren’t true. “He doesn’t even know I’m doing this,” he explained. “He wouldn’t be happy about it. The last thing he wants is an appeal. And I thought you might be just a little bit more supportive about this.”

“Supportive?” Frankie scoffed. “I’m supposed to be supportive about the fact that my son is throwing his life away?”

“How am I throwing my life away?” Craig asked. “Mum, I’m in love with him. He’s in love with me. It’s worth it. It’s all going to be worth it.”

“What ever happened to that Sarah girl?” Frankie asked, apparently choosing to gloss over Craig declarations. “She was nice. Why don’t you give that another go?”

“Because I am in love with John Paul,” Craig stated. “You can’t make that go away.”

Frankie gave a huff, getting to her feet. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“When I’m like what?” Craig asked. “Gay?”

Frankie spun around, giving him an irritated look. “You really think that’s my biggest concern in all this?” she asked. “I’m slightly more worried about the fact that he’s a murderer. The fact that he’s a bloke is just the icing on the cake really, isn’t it?”

Craig stared at her, knowing the hurt must be showing all over his face. Frankie blinked, looking conflicted, like part of her wanted to comfort him and the other part just wanted to get as far away from him as possible. In the end, the latter won out as she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

Craig sagged into the sofa, feeling more broken down than he had in a while. It was probably stupid of him to have expected anything else really, but he guessed he still had a belief that his mum would be on his side. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, but part of him still sought out her approval and probably always would.

He looked back at the computer screen in front of him. He was so close, but he felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him now. There was a voice in his head telling him to focus, to not give up, but he was finding it hard to listen. His life seemed to be getting further out of his control. He just wanted something to go right for him for a change. He wanted everything to stop being such a struggle.

With a new found determination, he read through the information in front of him. It didn’t always have to be this hard. If he could just get this right, he could get rid of so many of the obstacles that stood in front of him. He could get his life back, and have in it the one person that he couldn’t imagine being without.

“You know, when I said you should get a prison girlfriend, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Craig looked up to see Darren smirking at him from the doorway. He walked into the room, amusement at Craig’s expense dripping off him. Craig had to look away or he thought he might lamp him.

“What is going on in that head of yours?” Darren asked.

“Why does everyone have such a problem with it?” Craig asked.

“Because it’s _weird_ ,” Darren stated. He sat down beside Craig, his arm resting across the back of the sofa.

“What’s so weird about falling in love?” Craig asked.

“The fact that you’ve fallen in ‘love’ with a _bloke_ who’s convicted of _murder_ , that’s what’s so weird,” Darren told him. “I thought you were a normal bloke. A bloke who liked girls. Available girls. With breasts and shorts skirts and _normal_ sex. None of that weird stuff.” He shuddered slightly.

Craig looked at him. “It’s not about sex, thank you, Darren,” he stated.

“You mean cos he’s locked up?” Darren asked. “Well, if you’re gonna go with a bloke, go with a bloke who you don’t have to shag I suppose.”

Craig rolled his eyes. “That’s not... I mean, I would...” He shook his head in frustration. “I meant it’s more meaningful than that. It goes deeper.”

“I’d be worried about a bloke who wants to go deeper,” Darren muttered.

“Look, come back to me when you’ve got the maturity to understand something like this,” Craig told him. “You’re like a sniggering schoolboy. It’s embarrassing.”

“Whatever,” Darren said. “Make me sound like the one who’s got something wrong with them. You’re the one that’s gonna end up like Jake.”

Craig felt something snap inside him. It was a low blow, even for Darren. He shoved his laptop aside and got to his feet, stomping off down the stairs. His feet told him to keep walking, but he didn’t get any further than the patio. Instead, he sat on one of the picnic benches and stared out over the water. He was never going to hear the end of this. He didn’t have the words he needed to make them understand. It was the same problem all other again; what he had found with John Paul defied definition.

He put his head in his hands, trying to block it out. He didn’t know how long he’d been sat there when a hand landed on his shoulder, but the unexpected touch didn’t make him jump. Instead, the steady, warm weight gave him some much needed comfort. He looked up to see Jack sitting by his side. He didn’t offer him any words, just a kind smile. Craig couldn’t tell him how grateful that made him.

“Do you think I’m making a huge mistake too?” Craig asked.

“It’s not really my place to say, now, is it?” Jack stated.

“Why not?” Craig asked, looking out over the water again. “Everyone else is havin’ a go.”

“Your mother’s just worried,” Jack told him. “She doesn’t want you to make the wrong choice. Doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Doesn’t want me to be gay,” Craig added. He looked at Jack. “I’m not, by the way. I know how it looks, and I know what I said to her, but...” He shook his head. “I was just trying to prove a point. That it makes her uncomfortable. That’s what she’s got a problem with. If it was a girl, she wouldn’t be making such a fuss. She wouldn’t see them as a threat or think they were corrupting me. She wouldn’t think it was quite so distasteful.” He looked down at the floor, an unpleasant feeling creeping through him. He wondered if it was the same thing his mother felt when she thought about him and John Paul.

“It’s a lot for her to take in,” Jack said. “And she’s always going to see you as her little boy, you know. It’s a mother’s instinct. They don’t like it when their kids grow up on them.”

“That’s not what this is about, though, is it?” Craig stated. “She thinks there’s something wrong with me. With me and John Paul.” He looked at Jack, his face pleading, desperate for someone to understand. “I really do love him. I know that I’m probably not supposed to, because he’s a bloke and he’s in prison and a million other reasons, but I do. Despite all that, I do. So it can’t really be wrong if he makes me feel like this. Can it?”

Jack put his arm around Craig’s shoulders, a fatherly gesture that Craig hadn’t realised he’d been craving through all this. “You’re the only one who can answer that, son,” Jack told him. “No one else can see this from your point of view. No one else can tell you what you need to do. But I know that your mum’s given you a pretty good head on those shoulders. She’ll figure that one out eventually too. Give her some time.”

Craig nodded. “Thanks, Jack. For not laying into me and telling me I’m an idiot. It seems to be the popular opinion.”

“All I’m worried about is you being alright,” Jack told him. “If you need any help, we’re here for you, all of us. But I hope you won’t need it. Seems to me you’ve got things under control.”

“I have,” Craig replied. “I just can’t get anyone to believe me.”

“Thought you’d legged it.”

Craig cringed at the sound of Darren’s voice.

“Packed up your laptop for you,” Darren continued. “Thought you might need it for all that super important research on breaking out your boyfriend.”

Craig bit down on his tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. Darren put the laptop down on the table and sat down at the other side of Craig. He fidgeted for a moment, like he was nervous about something.

“Listen, what I said earlier, about it being weird...” he began.

“Leave it, Darren,” Craig said wearily.

“Look, you know I didn’t mean anything,” Darren said. “I was only teasing. And it is kind of weird, what with him being in prison. You Deans, you never do anything in a straightforward way, do you?”

“Not if we can help it,” Craig muttered dryly.

Darren gave him a brief smile. “And that thing I said about Jake,” he continued. “Didn’t mean to hit such a nerve. You were always smarter than him, that’s all. Don’t want you following in his footsteps.”

“You almost paid me a compliment then,” Craig said.

“Don’t worry,” Darren replied. “Think I reined myself in just in time.”

They shared a smile before silence fell over the three of them. Craig just sat for a while, Jack on one side of him and Darren on the other, the people who had become his family. He didn’t exactly choose them, but he was glad that they were there. He wasn’t quite sure if he was expecting Frankie to come out too, to accept Craig like Jack and Darren had, but she didn’t. In the end, Craig headed home, his laptop on his shoulder and his head filled with new troubles that he really didn’t need.

“Mum’s been on the phone,” Steph told him the second he was through the door.

“Let me guess what about,” Craig replied. He sat down heavily beside her, putting his laptop bag down onto the floor.

“I can’t believe you told her,” Steph said. “I think it was really brave. I mean, I didn’t have the guts to tell her about me and Niall.”

“Luckily you’ve got a little brother with a big mouth who took care of that one for you, though, yeah?” Craig responded.

“I wasn’t having a go,” Steph said. “I’m just saying, I think it says a lot about how serious you are, how much he means to you. I mean, you must’ve known how she’d react, but you told her anyway.”

“Yeah, because I’m idiot,” Craig said. “You don’t have to join in the chorus, Steph, I’ve had enough people telling me that today.”

“I didn’t call you an idiot,” Steph replied. “I said brave.” Craig looked at her. “And you’re sure, aren’t you? About this thing that you have with John Paul. You don’t have any doubts. That’s why you told her. I’m actually kind of jealous. I wish I could be that certain about something in my life.”

“You’re not certain about you and Niall?” Craig asked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been certain about anything,” Steph admitted. “You never know how things are gonna turn out at the end of the day. But you’re certain that this thing between you and John Paul is worth the risk, aren’t you?”

“No doubt,” Craig agreed. “Maybe I can’t get him out of there, but I’m not giving up. And I’m not going to be ashamed about how I feel about him.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t really been there for you as much as I could,” Steph said.

Craig shrugged. “Same could be said about me with you and Niall.”

“I’m on your side, okay?” Steph stated.

“I know you are,” Craig said, pulling her into a hug. He couldn’t remember a time when they didn’t stick together. It hurt that Frankie couldn’t bring herself to be there for him, but he still had family he could trust, that he could count on. He just had to get on with what he needed to do and hope that someday she’d decide to be one of them.


	30. Chapter 30

Kieron opened the door, his eyes landing on Craig with a vague look of annoyance. It was a kind of put upon, parental expression of exasperation mixed with something like fondness. Craig guessed that Kieron had always expected him to come calling again. He also guessed that he wasn’t about to turn him away. Kieron was wired to help people regardless of his own preferences. It was a trait that Craig found strangely irritating.

“I need to ask you something,” Craig stated.

Kieron nodded mutely and motioned with his arm to enter, closing the door behind them both. “Another Google search come up fruitless for you?” he joked.

“Actually, Google gave me everything I needed this time,” Craig said happily, excitement and anticipation and something that he was determined not to call dread swirling around inside his stomach. “Well, nearly everything,” he added. Kieron looked apprehensive, like he was wondering whether he should brace himself or not. “Look, it’s nothing to do with sex this time, I promise,” Craig assured him.

“Am I walkin’ in on you at inopportune moments again?” Niall asked dryly, raising his eyebrows at Kieron as he came down the hall. Kieron gave him a weary look and Craig decided he very much didn’t want to know what they were talking about.

“Didn’t you say you were going to work?” Kieron prompted.

“Yeah, in a bit,” Niall responded. “Just gonna have a cuppa first, if that’s alright?”

Kieron stepped away from Craig, going over to Niall. “Listen, mate, do you think you could just give us a bit of space here?”

Niall looked over at Craig as though he were considering him, looking him over for a few moments longer than seemed necessary. Then he turned back to Kieron, speaking quietly. “You wanna watch yourself,” he said, glancing not so subtly at Craig. “We both know where this path can lead.”

“Niall,” Kieron said firmly. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Alright,” Niall agreed easily. “Just don’t go fallin’ into old patterns.” He gave Kieron a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading for the door. “I’ll catch you later, mate,” he said to Craig on the way out. Craig just gave a vague nod, trying not to let Niall’s whisperings get to him.

Kieron took a breath and let it out as a sigh, turning back to face Craig. “Sorry about that,” he said. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, um...” Craig shook his head slightly, focusing. “I found a lawyer. A good lawyer.”

“Why do you need a lawyer?” Kieron asked. “What have you done?”

“Not for me,” Craig dismissed, giving him a look. “For John Paul.”

“Oh,” Kieron replied. His face filled with apprehension and Craig almost held his breath just from the sight of that uneasy expression. “Does John Paul know about this?”

“Not exactly,” Craig admitted. Kieron gave him a seriously unimpressed look. “Just hear me out,” Craig insisted. “She’s called Katharine Fowler, and she’s good, really experienced, she’s got a great track record. And she’s expensive. But she does pro bono work. If she thinks it’s a case worth fighting for. So, I figured, if I can convince her to work on John Paul’s defence, he could really get out of there.”

“Alright, slow down,” Kieron said. “I think you need to have a conversation with John Paul before you do anything about this.”

“Look, we’ve talked about it,” Craig said. “I brought it up a while ago and... he’s thinking about.”

Kieron nodded, looking like he was considering it. He gave a sigh. “This is really between you and him, but I’m sure you can anticipate how he might react to your going behind his back on this.”

“It’s not behind his back,” Craig insisted. “I’ve been upfront about this. I told him that this is what I need to happen. What _we_ need to happen. This is... it’s the only answer.”

“An answer which he hasn’t agreed to,” Kieron pointed out. Craig gave him a weary look. Kieron held his hands up in something like surrender. “Like I said, it’s between you and him, but I’ll give you the same advice that I gave him a while back. You need to work this out together.”

Craig wondered when exactly Kieron had told John Paul that. He wondered how John Paul had reacted. A rather begrudging part of his brain told him that maybe he had more to thank Kieron for than he thought. He levelled his gaze at him.

“Look, can you just trust me when I say that I know what I’m doing?” he asked earnestly.

He knew how John Paul was going to react to this, but he also knew the response he’d get if he pushed the issue and asked for permission to go ahead with the lawyer. This needed to be set in motion for John Paul to accept it. Craig needed to prove how serious and vital this step was. He felt certain it was the only way anything was going to move forward.

“Well, you seem fairly trustworthy to me,” Kieron responded. “And you seem to know what you’re doing. You’re not a quitter, I’ll give you that.” Craig nodded gratefully. “I’m not sure what you need me for though,” Kieron added. “You’ve found your lawyer, you seem to have it all under control.”

“Yeah,” Craig replied, a little reluctantly. “Only, there was one favour that I wanted to ask you.”

“Go on,” Kieron invited.

“Well, I have a meeting with her tomorrow,” Craig explained. “And I was wondering if you could... maybe... come with me?”

Kieron seemed to consider him for a moment. “Why would you want me to come with you?”

Craig gave a frustrated sigh, resenting the fact that Kieron was making him spell it out. “Because you’re articulate and I can barely get a sentence out when I’m nervous,” he responded. “You make a good impression. And I thought you could wear the priest outfit.”

“Let me get this straight,” Kieron stated. “You want me to use my calling as emotional blackmail on a lawyer?”

“Did I say that?” Craig replied. “It’s not emotional blackmail. It’s just... it looks good. If he has a priest on his side. Fighting in his corner. Helps the case for self-defence.”

Kieron pursed his lips together in contemplation. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure that’s entirely justified,” he stated. “But, I’d like to see him out of there, and if I can help...”

Craig couldn’t resist the smile that spread over his face. “Thank you. Seriously, Kieron, thank you.”

“If he flies off the handle, I had nothing to do with this,” Kieron said.

Craig rolled his eyes. “I take full responsibility,” he assured him, knowing that he meant if it was a success just as much as if it were a failure. “I’ll pick you up at ten, we can go into town together.”

“Alright,” Kieron agreed. “See you then.”

Craig bit down on his lip to stop himself grinning like an idiot as he let himself out of the flat. He felt like all of his plans were finally starting to fall into place.

*

“Which one of these shirts makes me look grown up and capable?” Craig asked, holding them both up for Steph to see.

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a shirt,” Steph responded. Craig gave an exasperated sigh and fixed her with a look. “The red one,” she replied. “Wear the red one.”

“Thank you,” Craig stated, tossing the other one aside and pulling the red shirt on over his vest. He buttoned it up and then straightened it out nervously. “I look okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, you look fine,” Steph replied. “Stop worrying. I don’t think this woman’s going to care what you look like.”

“But I have to make a good first impression,” Craig insisted. “We all know that I’m going to blow it the second I open my mouth.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. This is about John Paul. It’s his case she’s looking at. Whether you make an idiot of yourself or not is irrelevant.”

“I’m representing him,” Craig stated. “It’s important.”

“Alright,” Steph relented. “But you’re doing him a favour here. Just try and remember that.”

“I have to go,” Craig stated, picking up his paperwork. He looked back at Steph. “You sure this is the right shirt?”

“Go!” Steph insisted, a friendly exasperation in her voice. Craig gave her a smile.

“I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Good luck,” Steph called out behind him. He had a feeling he’d need it.

*

Kieron was wearing his priest outfit, as instructed, and he was looking a lot more together than Craig felt. Craig knew that he should be grateful instead of jealous. One of them needed to have it together. When Kieron went through to his bedroom to grab his things, Craig was left alone with Niall in the kitchen. He shifted from foot to foot, looking the other way and hoping that Niall would just carry on buttering his toast and not try to strike up a conversation with him. He knew it was too much to wish for.

“So,” Niall began, causing Craig to look at him. “John Paul finally getting the ball rolling on this appeal, then, is he?”

Craig had a feeling that Niall knew exactly what the score was, it wasn’t like he and Kieron didn’t talk, and Craig bet the two of them couldn’t wait to point out what a short-sighted idiot he was for doing this. Something in the tone of Niall’s voice suggested that he was just looking for an excuse to wind him up.

“He’s thinking about it,” Craig responded guardedly, looking away again.

“Thinking about it?” Niall repeated. “He has given you his go ahead for this, I assume.”

Craig turned to give him an irritated look. “Look, it’s fine, it’s in hand,” he responded curtly.

“Right,” Niall replied, giving him a look that was almost wary. “I haven’t spoken to him for a while, so you probably know better than me.”

“I do,” Craig stated firmly. Niall nodded in that patronising way that told Craig he saw him as little more than a kid having a tantrum. It really wound Craig up. “He’s going to agree to it,” he insisted. “Once he sees people are behind him. He just needs to work at seeing himself as important.”

“I think John Paul’s spent all together too many years seeing himself as _very_ important,” Niall muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Craig asked, finding himself taking a confrontational step forward. It was his natural instinct when it came to John Paul.

“Nothing,” Niall dismissed, shaking his head. “Ignore me. He’s only a kid, it’s not really his fault, is it?”

“What’s not his fault?” Craig asked, not really sure that he wanted to know the answer.

“Forget it,” Niall shrugged off.

Craig tried not to rise to Niall’s obvious attempt to wind him up, biting down on his lip and taking a breath to push away the growing annoyance that made him want to bite. It didn’t do any good. He simply couldn’t let things lie where John Paul was concerned. He had to stick up for him.

“It’s not all about him,” Craig stated. “I mean, one of the major things stopping him going through with this is to protect his family, not himself. He doesn’t want to put them through it.”

“Yeah, well, they have been through a lot,” Niall allowed.

“And I’m sure they’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Craig responded. “They care about him a lot.”

“Yeah, they stick together, alright, those McQueens,” Niall agreed, something almost sardonic in his voice that Craig wasn’t sure if he was imagining or not. “You weren’t around though. You don’t know what he put them through. In pieces, that family was.”

“He didn’t do any of it on purpose,” Craig said, his voice straining as he felt anger on John Paul’s behalf bubbling up inside him.

“No,” Niall replied easily. “Suppose I’m kind of biased. Had Myra crying on my shoulder over that boy more than a couple of times. She never deserved any of that.”

There was something in Niall’s manner than was unsettling to Craig, even more so than usual, something that he couldn’t put his finger on. He had a feeling they were talking around a secret that Niall wasn’t willing to part with, but he wasn’t above taunting Craig with it either. It made him feel uneasy.

“Right, are we ready?” Kieron asked, breezing back into the room. Niall snapped out of whatever was going on between them, turning back to his breakfast like nothing was amiss. Craig still felt slightly shaken.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to focus on Kieron.

“Best get going then,” Kieron said. “I’ll see you later, Niall.”

“Yeah, see ya, mate,” Niall responded. He gave Craig a friendly smile. “Good luck.”

*

Katharine Fowler’s office was in an old building in town. Everything seemed clad in dark wood and it had a funny smell to it that Craig couldn’t quite place. Something rich and intimidating. He sat in the reception with Kieron, his leg jiggling restlessly up and down as he chewed on his lip, needing this to be over with already. The receptionist’s nails clicked irritatingly against her computer keyboard, putting him even more on edge. Kieron, in comparison, seemed to be taking it all in his stride, sitting still, his hands clasped in his lap, something about him exuding a confidence that really got on Craig’s nerves.

He took a breath and reminded himself why he was here, reminded himself why he’d brought Kieron with him. This was for John Paul. He had to be strong, had to hold himself together, had to put away his own anxiety and get through this. And Kieron, Kieron was here _because_ he didn’t fall to pieces under pressure like Craig knew he had a tendency to do. But not today, Craig told him. He was going to get this right. For John Paul.

“Mr. Dean,” the receptionist called.

Craig blinked himself out of his daze. “Yeah?”

“Ms. Fowler is ready for you now, if you’d like to go through,” the receptionist told him, motioning towards a door.

Craig nodded, getting to his feet. “Thank you.” He exchanged a quick look with Kieron and they headed into the office.

This room seemed ever more intimidating than the reception area. It had large bookcases along one wall, all neatly ordered with professional and expensive looking books. The sunlight that came through the window seemed dusty somehow, and the room was still quite dim despite it. Behind the large desk sat, Craig presumed, Katharine Fowler. She seemed to be in her forties, but still quite pretty, despite the dark hair scraped severely back and the vague scowl that she wore. She looked up from whatever she was reading, sliding her glasses off her nose. She didn’t smile.

“Mr. Dean?” she asked curtly, looking between them.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Craig said, raising his hand slightly as though he were in class. It felt more like the headmaster’s office.

“And your friend?” Katharine enquired, signalling towards Kieron.

“Father Kieron Hobbs,” Kieron responded, moving forward and offering out his hand. Katharine took it, looking almost sceptical as she shook it. “I’m a family friend of John Paul, the boy we’d like you to represent,” Kieron explained.

Katharine nodded slightly. “Take a seat,” she invited.

They both sat. Craig fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt and then caught himself, forcing his hands to still. The last thing he wanted was to look like some nervous kid, even if that was how he felt.

“So, Mr. Dean,” Katharine began. “Tell me how it is that you think I can help you.”

Craig’s mouth had gone completely dry and he was sure he was sweating more than was necessary. It seemed far too hot in the small office. He breathed in deeply and began to speak. “It’s my friend,” he said. “Actually, he’s my boyfriend.” Katharine gave him a look like she could care less about his dithering over such trivial things. “Okay, well, he’s in prison, for murder, and I want to appeal the sentence.”

“Did he do it?” Katharine asked bluntly.

“No,” Craig said instinctively. “Not... He did kill someone. But it wasn’t murder. It was self-defence. It was his sister’s abusive boyfriend.”

Katharine nodded, jotting something down on a pad. “If the boyfriend was abusing the sister, why did he need to defend himself?”

“He was trying to help his sister escape and, because he was in the way, Jimmy... the boyfriend... he attacked him. John Paul. He attacked John Paul.” Craig’s eyes fell downwards as he remembered the way that John Paul had told this story, the words playing over in his mind, everything he’d been through. “He didn’t have a choice,” he said.

Katharine made a couple more notes, looking unmoved. “The would-be client’s name is John Paul?”

“McQueen,” Craig responded. “John Paul McQueen.”

Katharine nodded vaguely. “What was his tariff set at?”

Craig opened his mouth to speak, but realised that he didn’t know the answer. He knew what a tariff was, thanks to his research, but it occurred to him now that he’d never found out about John Paul’s. He’d dug up everything he could about the trial without bothering John Paul’s family, he’d played detective and put together a folder of information to give to Katharine, but he was so busy concentrating on everything that led up to the sentence, he never took note of the conviction itself. He felt like a complete idiot.

“Fifteen years,” Kieron stated, jumping in.

Craig looked at him. Of course he’d know, he would’ve been at the trial, supporting his dirty little secret of a boyfriend. The vague thought crossed Craig’s mind of whether they’d still be together if the verdict hadn’t gone the way it had. He quickly dismissed it.

“He’s served nearly two, so he’ll be up for parole in about thirteen years,” Kieron continued.

Thirteen years, Craig repeated to himself. In a way, it made something in Craig feel lighter. Thirteen years sounded so much better than life. Still, in thirteen years he’d be thirty-three. There were so many things he wanted to have done by that age. Could he really put such a huge part of himself on hold for so long?

“And why has he waited two years before deciding to appeal?” Katharine enquired. “Has new evidence come to light?”

“No,” Craig replied. “But, the first trial, it was stupid. I mean...” He was sounding like an idiot, an inarticulate idiot. He had to do better than this. “I put together a folder,” he stated, holding it out to her. “Information on the first trial, the prosecution against him. It’s full of holes, reasoning that revolved around hand washing and opening doors.”

Katharine gave him a slightly quizzical look before taking the file from him, flicking through the information. “I assume you’re aware of my fees,” she stated, not looking up. “If we decide to push ahead with this.”

“Erm, well, about that,” Craig said, exchanging a quick look with Kieron. “I know that you do pro bono work from time to time.”

Katharine looked up slowly, seeming unimpressed. “In exceptional circumstances, yes. This is hardly exceptional.”

“He’s exceptional to me,” Craig stated.

“That may be, Mr. Dean, but...”

“Look, I did a lot of research before I decided which lawyer I was going to approach with this case, and I picked you out of the pile for a reason,” Craig said. “Most of those pro bono cases that you worked on were domestic abuse cases. That’s what this is. If John Paul hadn’t been there, it would’ve been Carmel, and you’d have represented her.”

“Like I said, Mr. Dean, each case must be taken on it’s out merits...”

“But it’s the same thing,” Craig insisted. “He was scared for his sister. The whole family was living in fear, not just Carmel. You can’t say her fears were more valid than his. He was fighting for his life from an abuser the same as any battered wife ever does.”

Katharine looked at him, her lips pressed together, like she was considering it.

“John Paul was a good kid,” Kieron stated. “He worked hard at school, he got good grades, hung around in the right crowd, held down a part-time job, was a vital part of his family. He was only eighteen years old, he had his whole life ahead of him. But he made one little mistake. He helped somebody. Now, he comes from a large family, a family whose finances are strained. They couldn’t afford to give him the defence that he deserved. He didn’t get a fair hearing. He deserves a second chance.”

“I appreciate where you’re coming from,” Katharine said. “But the prison system is sadly brimming with people who deserve second chances. I can’t afford to give them all out for free. I will consider the information you’ve given me and...”

“Please,” Craig implored. “ _Please_. He is such an amazing person. He has so much to give, but he can’t do it from in there. His family need him. Carmel needs him. _I_ need him. I need him. He’s going to lose himself in there. He is a sweet, sensitive, funny, loving guy, but he’s building walls around himself. He’s done nothing wrong. If you don’t help him, then...”

Craig couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to John Paul if he didn’t get out of there. He’d probably become someone else entirely, someone hardened and bitter and unreachable. Craig couldn’t bear that. Waiting thirteen years was a difficult enough prospect without considering the fact that he might not even get the man he was so in love with at the end of it.

He looked into Katharine’s eyes, silently imploring with all the exhaustion and vulnerability that he could no longer keep out of his face. Something seemed to have softened in her expression. It was subtle, and maybe he was imagining it, but he felt a tiny twinge of hope that was almost painful.

“Mr. Dean, I will look over the information you’ve given me and I will let you know if you have a case here,” she stated.

Craig nodded, not sure if he was beaten or not. “Thank you for your time.”

“We appreciate it,” Kieron added as the two of them got to their feet.

“I’ll be in touch,” Katharine told him. Craig gave her an awkward half-smile before turning and heading for the door.

Outside, Craig took a deep breath of fresh air like he’d been suffocating in that office. Or maybe he’d just been holding his breath. “Thanks,” he told Kieron.

“I don’t think I did anything,” Kieron responded.

“You... gave a very eloquent argument,” Craig said. “It was more than I managed.”

“I think your passion counted for more than my eloquence,” Kieron told him. “That’s what’ll sway her, I reckon.”

The word rooted in Craig’s head. _Passion._ It was something that he’d spoken about with John Paul on multiple occasions, something that had often managed to get him into trouble. It was the thing that he craved the most from John Paul. He got glimpses, sometimes in one of their ‘Lucy’ conversations or sometimes in a subtle look, but it was always heavily veiled, always carefully held back. It was never quite enough.

“So,” he said, breaking himself out of his train of thought. “You think, between your eloquence and my passion, we might have managed to pull this off?”

“I hope so,” Kieron replied.

Craig nodded. “I hope so too.”


	31. Chapter 31

Craig felt a thrill as he walked into the visiting hall, a thrill that he knew was in equal parts exciting and dangerous. He had good news. He just hoped that John Paul would see it that way. The elation he felt at Katharine Fowler’s response was wary to say the least. This could go very, very badly.

As his eyes landed on John Paul, he couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at his face. He felt so soppy sometimes when he stood in that room and his whole being flushed pleasantly just from being so close to John Paul. He knew that he was a long way past fighting it though. Maybe it was soft, being as loved up as he was, he knew more than a couple of McQueens that would make fun of him for the way he acted sometimes, but he didn’t care. Not when John Paul smiled back at him like that and everything was as close to perfect as it ever was. Craig wished that they could live in the silent little moments like that.

“Hi,” he said as he slid into the seat opposite John Paul.

“Hi,” John Paul responded simply.

They gazed at each other, indulging in a moment that they both knew could prove dangerous if it went on too long, and then they settled comfortably into their seats and their roles as best friends. Craig didn’t mind that as much as he maybe once did. It wasn’t a lie, just a different part of what they had. The longing still pressed at his skin, threatening to rip him open, but it was a familiar sensation that was bearable. The words _not yet_ played over in his mind for the millionth time and he tried to hold onto the belief that this was going to be real one day. It was all that kept him going. And so he had to tell John Paul his news. He had to. But then John Paul’s foot brushed against his ankle and he completely lost his bottle. He didn’t want John Paul to get angry. He wanted him to keep looking at him like that, keep subtly touching him like that, keep smiling like he had something worth smiling about.

“So, how are you?” John Paul asked.

“Good,” Craig said, almost stuttering over the word, his mind not entirely focused on the small talk at hand. “Yeah, y’know, good. I’ve been... good.”

John Paul let out a small laugh. “Are you sure?”

Craig smiled at him. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, fantastic,” John Paul said dryly. His eyes flicked to the scratched tabletop and then back up at Craig, like he was dismissing his own sarcasm. “I’m okay,” he said, an honesty in the almost grave way in which he said it. Craig knew that it would never be easy for him in there, but it was heartening just to hear those neutral words said with conviction. It was a huge step up from where he once was.

Craig looked around the room. “I’m gonna get the coffees,” he announced.

John Paul smiled. “That’s why you’re my favourite.”

Craig could still feel John Paul’s touch against his ankle as he walked across the room. He thought he might be getting a bit of a preoccupation with the spot, truth be told. Sometimes, when he was watching TV, curled up on the sofa, he found himself putting pressure on the spot and sighing contentedly. Steph was beginning to think he was quite strange.

As Craig fed his money into the coffee machine, he told himself that he needed to stop daydreaming and get to the point. He’d been holding onto this bit of information so that they could discuss it face to face, where Craig would be able to show him with everything he had just how much this meant to him, and where John Paul would have nowhere to hide. Unless he stormed off of course. The thought made Craig sigh, made his stomach clench. He wanted to dismiss it as brattish behaviour, but he reminded himself that John Paul was just scared. He had to make him feel safe.

He handed John Paul his coffee and received a grateful smile in response, John Paul’s foot making its way back to Craig’s ankle. Craig ached to hold him for real. He imagined strong arms and warmth and security.

“So, tell me something,” John Paul prompted. “What exciting things have you been up to?”

Craig blinked a couple of times, forcing himself to focus. “Not really exciting,” he dismissed. “Football practice, family stuff. Been doing some shifts at Mobs to help Steph out.” He bit down on his lip. He thought of the meeting with Katharine Fowler, the stuffy office. He thought of the phone call he’d gotten a week ago and kept a secret.

“Are you alright?” John Paul asked.

“Yeah,” Craig nodded. “Sorry, I’m just tired. Went for a few pints with the footie mates last night.”

It was true, strictly speaking. It was only two pints though, and he was in bed by eleven. John Paul smiled knowingly though.

“I think I could get absolutely wasted on half a pint nowadays,” he said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a drink I’d be on the floor.”

“Half a pint and you’re anyone’s, ay?” Craig teased.

“Probably,” John Paul agreed. “Don’t envy the hangover part though.”

“No,” Craig agreed. He rubbed at his temple slightly and wondered why he was perpetuating the lie. His head didn’t hurt at all. It was spinning slightly, but it didn’t hurt. He took a sip of his coffee.

“You get up to no good then?” John Paul asked, and Craig wondered if he was imagining that slightly suggestive note in his voice.

“I was very well behaved,” Craig assured him. “I’m quite boring actually.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna be the one to say it,” John Paul teased.

“You find me endlessly fascinating,” Craig said loftily.

“Yeah, I do,” John Paul agreed with something like a sigh. “What does that say about me?”

Craig smiled fondly at him, but he found it hard to fully appreciate the subtle flirting while anxiety was twisting around tightly inside him. It reminded him of the time when he’d come to visit John Paul with the express purpose of telling him about his feelings for him but had ended up chickening out and writing it all in a bloody letter. Maybe that had worked out okay that time, but he knew that wasn’t the way this should be handled. It had to be now.

“I have to tell you something,” he blurted out.

John Paul looked at him, a mixture of wariness and curiosity. His body stilled and Craig wasn’t even sure he was breathing while he waited.

“Sorry,” Craig said. “That came out a lot blunter than I meant it to.”

John Paul nodded, but his expression didn’t change. “Go on, then.”

“Okay,” Craig agreed. “Right.” He met John Paul’s eyes determinately. “I found a lawyer.”

John Paul shook his head slightly, seeming confused. “Why do you need a lawyer?”

Craig sighed, frustrated. “I don’t need a lawyer,” he stated. “Why does everyone think the lawyer’s for me?”

Realisation dawned over John Paul’s face. He suddenly became very still. “Craig, tell me you haven’t,” he pleaded.

“Look, just hear me out,” Craig said quickly.

John Paul looked away. He was annoyed. He was bordering on angry. His foot slipped away from Craig’s ankle, making him feel alone and bereft. They weren’t a team anymore, connected by their secret life, giddy with the fact that they were pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes. They were just two men sitting at opposite sides of a table.

“This is not happening,” John Paul muttered. “You are not this stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Craig said indignantly, surprised by just how much that comment riled him up. The thought of being looked down on hurt him and he wasn’t about to sit there and take it.

“So why are you doing it?” John Paul demanded, turning to face him. “Because this isn’t your decision. This is _my_ decision. You can’t bully me into it.” There was something fierce in his eye, something bordering on nasty. Craig tried to remember it was the look he put in place when he was scared.

“I’m just giving you the option,” Craig explained. “Putting things in place in case... just, in case.”

“Oh, great, thanks,” John Paul spat out, words dripping with sarcasm. “Think I’m gonna pass though, if it’s all the same to you.”

He got to his feet. Craig could feel the clawing dread inside him. If he let John Paul walk away, let him leave while he was angry about this, he might never get him back.

“No,” he said, the single word coming out much stronger than he thought himself capable of. John Paul looked down at him, confusion stalling his retreat. “You have to listen to me,” Craig told him. “Just... please. Let me explain myself. Because you know I’m not stupid. So hear me out.”

John Paul dropped heavily down into the chair. He leaned back and crossed his arms protectively over him. His eyes were cast downwards and he looked like a scared little boy. Craig tried not to think about how accurate that description was. It physically hurt Craig to see him like that. He wanted to reach out to him, to wrap him up in his arms and take him away. Fantasies like that wouldn’t do him any good though. He might want to take John Paul home and keep him forever, but he was going to have to fight for it.

“She’s good,” he offered. “I did a lot of research and...”

“I don’t care,” John Paul cut in. Craig looked at him, annoyed at being thrown off track by such a petulant interruption. “She doesn’t mean anything to me,” John Paul continued. “It’s irrelevant. I want to know about you. I want to know why you think this is acceptable when you’re supposed to be giving me space to think. You can’t make this decision for me.”

“I’m not trying to,” Craig insisted. “But if I left it to you, you’d never do anything about it. I’m just helping you get things moving.”

“ _Without_ my consent,” John Paul replied. “Craig, that’s just making my mind up for me. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing?” Craig asked, hurt. “I have every right to want you to do this. As long as you’re in here, I may as well be in here too, because I can’t get on with my life, not when such a huge part of it will be stuck on hold with you.”

“You knew the terms before you even met me,” John Paul said, his voice dismissive as he looked away. “You knew I was in here. Don’t try and act all hard done by like it took you by surprise.”

Craig leaned right forward, his voice coming out as a furious whisper. “I didn’t ask to fall in love with you. I didn’t know that going in.”

John Paul stared at him for a moment, and Craig couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There were too many conflicting emotions vying for attention on his face that it made Craig feel dizzy and maybe a little nauseous.

“If you had the chance, would you take it back?” John Paul asked. It wasn’t a genuine question. It was a taunt, backed up by a challenging look filled with bravado. He’d found Craig’s weak spot and he was using it to deflect attention from himself. Craig knew this game better than he’d like.

“Sometimes you’re just cruel,” Craig told him. “You have a real nasty streak. And I have to try really hard to remind myself that you’re just scared.” John Paul looked away. “And you know I wouldn’t give you up, not for anything in the world. Not even for everything in the world. I’d let it all go up in smoke before I let you go.”

Something about that seemed to appeal to John Paul’s dark mood. He leaned forward on the table, his face still a confusing array of emotions, but there seemed to be some amusement under the conflict and fear. “You’re an idiot,” he said with a strange kind of confused fondness.

Craig gave a non-committal shrug. “She does pro-bono work,” he said. “That means you wouldn’t have to pay.”

“I know what pro-bono means,” John Paul stated with sulky insolence.

“You said you couldn’t afford a good lawyer,” Craig stated. “She’s good and she wouldn’t cost you a penny.”

“Great,” John Paul said. “Now if you could turn the trial into a wonderful happyland, we’ll be all set.”

“You know I can’t,” Craig responded. “But you’re getting ahead of yourself. All I’m asking you to do is meet her. She hasn’t even agreed to do it yet. She wants to meet you first. Wants to talk to you about it. So just talk to her. That’s all I’m asking.”

“No, Craig, all you asked me to do was think about it,” John Paul said. “I’m thinking about it. You can’t move the goalposts on me, it’s not fair.”

“This is still just thinking,” Craig insisted. “I know you think I’m pushing, and maybe I am, but I just want you to look at the options. That’s all this is, it’s an option. Maybe it’s not the right one for you, I don’t know, but I need to try and help. I need to be doing something. So just do me a favour and meet this stupid woman.”

John Paul smiled. It was somewhere between amused and despairing. “You think she’s stupid?”

Craig felt himself sag slightly with relief and just plain tiredness. “Please don’t wind me up.”

John Paul sighed. He played with his hands for a long moment, looking at them like he was studying them. “I don’t want to meet her.”

“I know,” Craig agreed.

“I don’t want to go through another trial,” John Paul continued. “I don’t want to put everyone else through one.” He looked up at Craig, his eyes sad and a little bit lost. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Craig felt his stomach flip as his eyes threatened to tear up. He shook his head. “You won’t lose me.”

John Paul looked around the room. He was tapping the fingers of his right hand on the table. Craig waited, giving him time to think. He didn’t want to rush him, didn’t want to make him feel pressured. He’d said all he could say. All that he could do now was hope it had been enough.

It seemed like a long time before John Paul looked at him again. He seemed resigned and tired and like he really needed a hug. Craig ached to oblige him.

“Will you come with me?” John Paul asked. “When I meet this lawyer woman. Can you be there?”

Craig couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”

“But, just for moral support,” John Paul told him. “Just... Just to be there. I need to be able to make my mind up. No pressure.”

Craig nodded eagerly. “No pressure,” he agreed. “I promise.”

John Paul gave a small nod. He took a breath and let it out, seeming to relax slightly. Under the table, his leg stretched outwards, his foot hooking around Craig’s ankle, and Craig felt relief flood his body that the connection was back, however fragile it was. That tiny physical contact was such an important part of what they had, a symbol of all the things that they wanted and needed from one another. It was like a promise, a sad little _one day_. Craig was doing everything in his power to get them there, but he knew he couldn’t do it on his own. John Paul needed to see himself as strong enough to take the next step. Looking at him now, hunched over the table, his body language screaming out his youth and insecurities, he wondered if he should ever have let himself get his hopes up as much as he had.

*

Craig had never been in this part of the prison before. It was lighter here, a window looking out on some kind of courtyard area, but it seemed somehow grimy too, like they weren’t trying to keep up appearances. The visiting hall was clean and stark and wouldn’t really give the loved ones cause to grumble. Here, the glass of the window was dusty and smeared behind the thick bars, and the sunlight came through hazy. It was depressing and it made Craig feel trapped. He guessed that was the point. He wondered if this was how John Paul felt every day.

Behind him, sitting at the table with an air of absolute calmness that bordered on indifference, was Katharine Fowler. This was obviously all routine to her, visiting clients in prison, and she took it all in her stride. Just another day at the office. It was kind of driving Craig insane. He knew that they needed someone like her if they were going to pull this off, but he just wished she could be a little bit more human. It might make him feel better about the mess of emotions that were churning around in his own stomach right now. He felt so out of his depth and he had no idea what to expect. His foot tapped restlessly on the floor and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets as he stared at the sun’s warmth trying to make its way somewhere that it clearly wasn’t welcome.

The heavy door opened and Craig nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see John Paul escorted into the room by two guards. His head was hanging down slightly and his hands were cuffed in front of him, the cold metal stark against his white skin. Craig had never seen him in handcuffs before, had never even thought to imagine him in them, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the way they glinted mockingly as he moved.

One of the guards came forward and unlocked the cuffs, slipping them off and giving John Paul a stern look. “Be good,” he said. The words were filled with condescension and Craig felt his jaw clench. John Paul just kept his head bowed down until they closed the door behind them and the lock slid back into place.

Craig moved on instinct, walking around the table and standing in front of John Paul, stopping just short of touching him. John Paul was rubbing absently at his wrists and Craig wondered if they were sore or if it was just something to do.

“Hey,” he said softly.

John Paul met his eyes and gave him a tiny smile. He seemed different, nervous, like he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act in this new situation they’d found themselves in. Craig wasn’t entirely sure either. John Paul’s eyes flicked over to Katharine.

“This is the lawyer,” Craig said, motioning over to her. “She’s good. Very good. And, erm, she knows... about us. So we, erm, we don’t have to pretend about... anything.”

John Paul looked at him, a thoughtfulness about him as he continued to play with his wrist. Then he looked at Katharine, his eyes moving over her like he wasn’t sure if he could trust her or not. He finally looked back to Craig, tilting his head slightly, almost in question, but Craig wasn’t quite sure what he was asking.

Katharine gave a quiet sigh that sounded somewhat irritated. “I’m going to turn around to get my folders in order for this meeting,” she stated. “You’ve got one minute.”

Craig looked at her in surprise and then turned his attention back to John Paul. He wasn’t going to waste this chance. It might be the only one they got for a very long time. He took edged forward and John Paul let go of his wrist, his arms falling to his sides. Craig could feel the warmth radiating from him, just like he always could, but it was different this time. It was a promise that didn’t necessarily have to go unfulfilled.

Craig wasn’t sure who moved first, but their arms slid around one another, not in the blokey way they usually did, but in a much softer way, a way that drew them together and allowed them to revel in one another’s personal space in a way they never had before. Their faces were close and Craig could feel John Paul’s breath. His whole body heated and tingled as he felt himself drawing closer still. Every tiny movement was shrouded in uncertainty. So many hopes had been pinned to this moment that might never happen that it was almost too much to bear.

Their lips met tentatively and it was like some kind of floodgate opened up inside Craig. He could tell by the tiny, indistinct noise that John Paul made that he felt it too. He shuddered in Craig’s arms and then pressed firmly against him, a series of kisses growing in intensity between them until their mouths were open and Craig could finally taste him for real.

Craig’s head was spinning as their tongues slid together. This couldn’t be real, it was too perfect a moment to truly exist, and yet it was here and it was happening and Craig didn’t know how he was ever going to stop. John Paul touched his face and kissed him deeper, a neediness in the action that tugged at Craig’s core and made him hold onto him tighter. His senses were completely taken over by John Paul, his taste and his smell and the warmth of him under Craig’s hands, and Craig felt like nothing else existed.

Katharine cleared her throat and Craig felt himself pulled sharply back into the unpleasant room, the unpleasant situation, that they found themselves in. The kiss reluctantly ended and they stared at one another for a moment, trying to find their bearings. John Paul’s face was flushed and his eyes were shining and his mouth was hanging open in the most enticing way as he took in heavy breaths.

“You okay?” Craig asked.

John Paul broke out into a grin, nodding at Craig. Then he pressed his lips together and Craig could see the tears in his eyes, see how overwhelmed he was, how vulnerable. He hadn’t had real physical contact with anyone in nearly two years, it wasn’t surprising that intimacy like this would affect him so deeply. His face crumpled slightly as he tried to keep hold of himself, tried to stop the tears from falling.

“I love you,” he mouthed, the words lost somewhere in his throat.

Craig pulled him tightly back into a hug, letting John Paul bury his face in his neck. “I love you too,” he whispered quietly in his ear, wanting to keep the moment between the two of them. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

John Paul nodded, taking slightly shuddering breaths as he tried to compose himself. He finally pulled away, blinking slightly and taking a deep breath. He gave Craig a brave little smile and they broke fully apart, heading over to the table. Craig sat by Katharine’s side and John Paul sat on the chair opposite them, his hands in his lap as he looked nervous and embarrassed.

“Mr. McQueen,” Katharine began.

“John Paul,” he correctly quietly. “Call me John Paul. I don’t like Mr. McQueen. I’ve only ever been called that in court.”

“And you’ll be called it in court again if we go ahead with this,” Katharine told him curtly. John Paul looked down and Craig couldn’t help but think that this was a really bad start. Katharine took a breath. “John Paul,” she began again. John Paul looked up at her. “I understand that Mr. Dean wanted to be present for our meeting today, but it really is your call as to whether he stays or not. I am going to need to hear about Mr. Hudson’s death in great detail and I need you to be honest with me. Can you do that with him here?”

John Paul’s eyes flicked to Craig. “He already knows.”

“He doesn’t know it down to every unpleasant detail that I am going to get out of you,” Katharine assured him.

John Paul looked slightly ill and maybe a little ashamed. He looked out of the window for a moment, his eyes glancing over Craig as he turned back to Katharine. “I want him to stay,” he said. He turned to Craig. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’m staying,” Craig told him firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

John Paul nodded, still looking uncomfortable and unsure. Craig slid his hand across the table, offering it out. John Paul shifted his chair closer, taking hold of it and giving him a grateful little smile that was filled with such sadness and fear. He seemed tiny and Craig just wanted to be holding him again. He wanted to kiss it all better and take him away where nothing could hurt him again.

“Alright,” Katharine began, glancing over her file. “Tell me about your relationship with Jimmy Hudson.”

Craig sat and listened as John Paul told his story, never letting go of his hand. Katharine seemed completely unmoved throughout the whole thing, asking questions and jotting down notes. She made him go over the actual stabbing several times, pushing for every gory little detail, the depth of the wounds and the amount of blood and why he didn’t stop. A single tear fell down John Paul’s cheek at one point as he struggled to hold it together, and Craig gripped his hand tighter, wishing that he could do something more for him, wishing that he could make it stop.

He thought he might have hated Katharine in that moment, but he reminded himself that she was only doing her job. He supposed that she could only get the results she needed by being clinical and detached about her clients, stripping everything away so that she could find the often unpleasant truths and use them to build her cases. Still, Craig wished she could have a little more warmth about her. It hurt him to see John Paul hurting, gave him an actual physical pain. All that he could do was pray that he was doing the right thing in the long run.

*

When Craig got back to the village, he was still feeling a little shaken up. He couldn’t imagine how John Paul must be feeling, sitting in his cell now. Craig couldn’t get the image out of his head of when the guards had come to take John Paul away from him again. John Paul had been so placid as they’d snapped the handcuffs back onto his wrists, like he just didn’t have any fight left in him. He looked small and broken. Craig told himself that wasn’t true. There was so much strength hidden in there, Craig had seen it. He tried to hold onto that fact in the hopes that it would make him feel less terrible about letting John Paul walk away from him in that state.

“Oh, hello.”

Craig looked up, trying not to wince as he saw Frankie smiling a little awkwardly at him.

“Was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” she said. Her tone was cheery, but Craig could tell it was an act. She felt uncomfortable around him. Clearly she still thought there was something wrong with him. It made him curl his hands into fists in his pockets.

“I wonder why,” he stated.

Frankie sighed and looked at him a little sadly. “I’m just worried about you, love.”

“I know you are,” Craig replied tightly.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Frankie told him.

“I know you do,” Craig agreed. “But I’m not. And it’s none of your business.”

Frankie looked down for a moment. “Have you been to see him now?” she asked.

Craig rolled his eyes. “I don’t need this,” he said, stepping forward. Frankie stopped him.

“I’m trying to take an interest,” she said.

“Well, don’t,” Craig told her. “I don’t need you to take an interest. Not because you feel guilty or out of some sense of obligation or because you want me to see sense. I’m doing okay and I’m not a little kid. I can look after myself, alright?” He started walking again and he didn’t let her stop him this time.

“I am your mother, Craig,” Frankie called pleadingly after him. Craig just jogged up the steps and headed inside his flat.

As he closed the door behind himself, he leaned on it with a sigh. He always felt so much better when he got home where he felt safe, where he could shut the world out for a little bit. He saw Tom sitting on the sofa and smiled to himself.

“Up for some Xbox?” he asked.

Tom turned to face him. He looked worried. “I did something bad.”

Craig felt his body sag. He really wasn’t in the mood for this now. He moved over to the sofa, dropping down heavily next to Tom. “What did you do?” he asked wearily.

“I made Niall angry with me,” Tom replied.

Craig instantly felt himself tense. He sat up a little straighter, turning to give Tom his full attention. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing,” Tom said. “Not really. He just shouted a bit. He was really cross. I didn’t think it would upset him that much.”

“Didn’t think what would upset him?” Craig asked.

“We were playing this game,” Tom explained. “Niall was hiding Max Mission and I had to find him. Then, when he went to the toilet, I thought it would be fun if we played the other way around, if I hid something of his. And he had this folder with him. So I hid it. He got really mad and said that he needed it back, that I shouldn’t touch his stuff, which wasn’t fair because he was touching Max Mission. But then Steph came downstairs and she was even more angry than him and she made him leave.”

“Good,” Craig said, glad that Steph could stick up for herself, that she wasn’t willing to take any crap from him. He couldn’t quite push away the nagging doubt that he should have been there though. “Where’s Steph now?” he asked.

“Upstairs,” Tom said. “I think she might be angry at me too.”

“I’m sure she’s not,” Craig assured him. “She’s probably just embarrassed that she was dating an idiot and upset at the same time that she lost him. Y’know, girl stuff.”

He thought that might make Tom smile or roll his eyes, but he just looked down. “There’s something else,” he said.

“What?” Craig asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Tom stood up and lifted the sofa cushion he’d been sitting on, picking up the folder that was stashed beneath. “I’ve still got it,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to give it back.”

Craig looked at it. It was just a non-descript green folder, nothing special about it. He took it out of Tom’s hand, curious as to what could be inside that Niall would be so afraid of losing.

“Should we take it back?” Tom asked.

Craig looked up at him. “No,” he said. “I mean, I’ll take it. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“But I should say sorry,” Tom said.

“Tom, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Craig told him. “Niall had no right to get that upset with you. He’s the bad guy, not you.”

Tom pursed his lips together like he didn’t quite believe that. He shoved the sofa cushion back into place. “Can I go play with Max Mission upstairs?”

“Yeah, of course you can,” Craig told him. “I’ll come check on you in a bit, alright?”

Tom nodded. “And you’ll give Niall his folder back?”

“Yeah,” Craig said distractedly, looking back down at the folder in his hand. “Yeah, I’ll give it to him.”

He gave Tom a small smile before watching him retreating up the stairs, making more noise than someone his size should rightly be able to. With a sigh, Craig tossed the folder onto the table and then got to his feet, flicking the kettle on and getting himself a cup. He really needed a brew.

He leaned against the worktop, waiting for the kettle to boil, and his eyes landed on the folder. He tried not to admit it to himself, but he was itching to look inside it. There had to be something good in there for him to get so angry. But it was an invasion of privacy and he had no right. He looked away and stared at the kettle, his fingers tapping restlessly on the worktop. He lasted maybe ten seconds before he was staring at the folder again.

Niall was pursuing his sister, Craig reminded himself. Very actively pursuing her. He was making friends with Tom and edging his way into the family and so they needed to know he could be trusted. They needed to know that he didn’t have any dark secrets. So, really, it was in all of their best interests for Craig to have a quick look inside the folder. Just to be on the safe side. It was as good a justification as any. He had to try very hard not to run across the room to grab it.

He sat on the sofa as he slid back the elastic that held the flaps of the folder in place, opening it up. The first thing he saw was an old newspaper article about a baby who was abandoned on the steps of some church. He scanned the article, but he didn’t see why it would interest Niall. He started to look through the other papers in the folder and found a picture forming, one that he couldn’t quite believe. As he finished looking through the items in front of him though, he knew that it could only mean one thing. He shoved it all messily back inside and headed for the door.


	32. Chapter 32

Craig knocked impatiently on the door and then suddenly remembered where he was, shoving the folder quickly behind his back as the door opened. Luckily it was Kieron. Craig let out a breath that he hadn’t quite realised he’d been holding.

“Hello,” Kieron said, seeming a little surprised. “How’d it go today?”

“Is Niall in?” Craig asked.

“Niall?” Kieron repeated, looking thrown. “I thought he was round at yours.”

Craig shook his head. “He left.”

“Oh,” Kieron replied. “Well, he hasn’t come back here yet.”

“Good,” Craig said, pushing his way into the flat.

Kieron turned around to look at him, the door still open. “Is everything alright?”

“This is Niall’s,” Craig told him, holding up the folder.

Kieron closed the door. “Well, I’ll make sure he gets it then.”

“I don’t want you to give it back to him,” Craig responded. “I want you to read it.”

“Read it?” Kieron asked. He looked at Craig like he was talking some kind of foreign language. “Why would I want to read it?”

“Because you need to know what it says,” Craig insisted.

Kieron just stared at him. Craig could feel himself getting more wound up by the second. He felt like he was going to explode. Maybe he shouldn’t have looked in the folder, but now that he had, he couldn’t unknow what he’d found out. And maybe it wasn’t right that he was forcing the information on someone else now, but he couldn’t keep it to himself. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“Look, Craig, I’ll make sure Niall gets his folder back,” Kieron said carefully, like he wasn’t sure how Craig was going to react. He held his hand out to take the folder, but Craig didn’t pass it to him.

“I think you need to read it,” Craig told him.

Kieron sighed, looking increasingly irritated. “Craig, what’s going on?”

“Just read it,” Craig said again. “Just have a look.”

“Whatever’s in there, it’s none of my business, is it?” Kieron responded.

“But this is really important, Kieron,” Craig insisted. “You deal with people’s secrets all the time, you take confession.”

“Niall hasn’t chosen to confess to me,” Kieron pointed out. “And even if he had, I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s confidential.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Craig begrudgingly admitted. “Just look at it for me and tell me what you think. I want your opinion before I go to Myra.”

“Myra?” Kieron asked, looking at him. “What’s Myra got to do with this?”

“Look in the folder and you’ll find out,” Craig told him.

Kieron turned around and took a few paces away, shaking his head. Craig asked himself what he was even doing here. Maybe he should have gone straight to Myra, but that didn’t seem fair. She had enough on her plate and part of him didn’t even believe this was true anyway. He needed to be sure. He needed a second opinion. He might not like Kieron much on a personal level, but he was good with things like this. Craig couldn’t stand the fact that he was refusing to help him out of some kind of misplaced morality.

“Just look,” Craig implored, opening the folder and trying to show Kieron some of the papers. Kieron didn’t look. “He’s Myra’s son,” Craig blurted out, frustrated.

Kieron turned to face him, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “What?”

“Niall,” Craig said. “Niall is Myra’s son.”

Kieron suddenly snatched the folder out of Craig’s hand, walking over to the dining table and spreading the contents over it. Craig could see his mind racing as he took it all in, clearly coming to the same conclusion that Craig had. He shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said quietly.

“I don’t think she knows,” Craig said. “That it’s him.”

“She doesn’t,” Kieron agreed distractedly. He rubbed his hand against his jaw as he stared at the papers in front of him.

“How do you know?” Craig asked.

There was something going on here, something that he was missing. Kieron knew more than he was letting on and Craig could feel himself getting dragged down deeper. This was about more than Niall keeping a secret. Craig felt dread creeping in as he wondered what he was getting in to. When he’d first opened that folder and worked it out, he didn’t stop and think, fuelled by adrenaline and a need to act. Everything was slowing down now and it was getting more sinister by the second.

Kieron looked at him. “You can’t tell anybody about this.”

“What did you mean about Myra?” Craig asked. “How come you’re so sure she doesn’t know?”

“Just leave it with me,” Kieron said, looking back down at the papers. “I need to think about this.”

“What do you know about Myra?” Craig asked. “You’re hiding something.”

Kieron looked at him gravely. He was silent for a long moment. “She asked me, in confidence, to do something for her,” he finally explained. “And I can’t discuss it.”

“She asked you to do what?”

“Craig,” Kieron warned, giving him a look.

“Asked you to find her son?” Craig asked.

Kieron looked down. His face was painted with conflict and despair. He was very still, lost in thought, and Craig didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t trust Niall, not for a second, and he knew that something was going on here. He just couldn’t quite connect the dots yet. He had a feeling that he and Kieron weren’t quite on the same page though.

“Are you going to tell her?” Craig asked.

“No,” Kieron said. He turned back to the table and started putting the papers back in the folder.

“You’re not going to tell her?” Craig asked incredulously. “But she asked you to find him.”

“And I will continue my investigations,” Kieron replied. “If my research leads me to this same conclusion, I’ll take it from there.”

“Kieron, she’s trusting you,” Craig said. “After everything else you’ve put her through, don’t you think you owe her this?”

Kieron gave him a disapproving look. “I don’t need reminding what Myra might think of me, thank you,” he said. “But how would I even explain how I found this out? Snooping through my flatmates things? I can’t do that to Niall. He’s obviously keeping this a secret for a reason.”

“Yeah, and aren’t you slightly concerned what that reason might be?” Craig challenged.

“What do you mean?” Kieron asked.

“He’s up to something,” Craig said. “I don’t know what, but I don’t trust him. Why is he lying? Why is he pretending to be something he’s not? He’s close to Myra, why not just tell her? He’s got some kind of ulterior motive here.”

“Maybe he just needs some more time,” Kieron said. “We don’t know how long he’s known. I think we just need to let him deal with this in his own way. He’s not doing anyone any harm.”

“And you’re just going to keep his secret for him, are you?” Craig asked.

“Yes, I am,” Kieron said. “Because it’s none of my business.”

“Well, clearly I came to the wrong person,” Craig said, turning around and heading for the door. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He’d thought Kieron might have been a bit more supportive.

“Craig,” Kieron called. “Look, please, don’t tell anyone.” Craig gave him a look. “No, I mean it. This is people’s lives you’re talking about. Making this public is going to do more harm than good, I promise you.”

Craig looked away and took a breath. His head was a mess. He was starting to wish that he’d never opened that folder in the first place. He didn’t need this hanging over his head along with everything else. All he’d wanted was a quiet night in, some time to sit and dwell over the closeness he’d shared with John Paul earlier that day, the kiss that left him absolutely breathless every time he thought about it. Instead, he was arguing with a priest and wondering something he’d been wondering a lot lately. Why couldn’t there just be a clear line between what was right and what was wrong?

“When you told the McQueens about me and John Paul, did anything good come of that?” Kieron asked. “For anyone?”

Craig looked at him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that secrets were bad, hurtful, but he had to agree that everyone possibly would have been better off if Craig had just kept his mouth shut. Myra wouldn’t have had to question her faith, John Paul wouldn’t have had to answer difficult questions when he already had more than enough to deal with and Kieron wouldn’t have been shut out by a family he clearly cared about. Maybe people were sometimes better off in the dark, even if it didn’t feel right to him.

“I won’t say anything,” he said. “For now. But I’m not dropping this. I’m keeping an eye on him. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“Thank you,” Kieron said with a relieved little smile. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Craig wasn’t so sure.

*

Craig walked through the village with thoughts of mothers and sons running through his head. He’d always been a mummy’s boy. The youngest of the family, he’d been known to play on being the baby. He never shied away from a little bit of special treatment.

He smiled a little sadly now. His mum had reached out to him this afternoon and he’d shrugged her off, hadn’t wanted to know. He was lucky really to have as good a relationship with his mum as he did. Maybe they didn’t see eye to eye over this John Paul situation, but it seemed like she was trying, making an effort. He should probably count his blessings. His family wasn’t perfect, but at least his mum cared. At least his mum knew that he existed.

He stopped at the steps up to his flat and stared at them. He wanted his quiet evening. He wanted to close his eyes and think of John Paul and savour every tiny detail of his memory. He didn’t though. He turned around and headed for the Dog.

Frankie was behind the bar with Jack. She looked a little apprehensive when she saw him heading over, standing up a little taller.

“Hi,” he offered weakly.

“Think of a new insult to hurl at me, did you?” Frankie asked.

Craig sighed. “I came to make up,” he said. “Look, can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course, love,” Frankie said quickly, her posture relaxing. She looked over to Jack.

“Off you go, I can handle it here,” he assured her.

“Thanks, Jack,” Frankie said with a grateful smile. She turned back to Craig. “Come on up then.”

Craig followed her up the stairs and into the flat. They sat side by side on the sofa, neither one of them speaking at first. Craig always felt young when he came here and not in a particularly pleasant way. The years he’d spent living in this flat were his awkward years, the ones where you didn’t really know who you were or what you wanted and everything about you seemed to keep changing without your permission. Puberty, dating, A-levels, applying to college. Everything about those memories made Craig feel out of his depth.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Frankie asked.

“I don’t know,” Craig replied honestly, turning to face her. “I just... I don’t want us to be fallen out anymore. I don’t want to fight with you. Because life’s too short and all that.” He turned away and gave a shrug. “I don’t know,” he said again.

“Well, I don’t want to be fallen out either,” Frankie told him. “You mean far too much to me. I’ve already lost Jake, Debbie barely rings anymore, neither does Steph for that matter and she’s only across the village.”

“I’m sorry,” Craig said, looking up at her.

He could feel a tightness in his chest, a lump in his throat. He took so much for granted. He thought that John Paul had made him see that already, but something about the situation with Niall and Myra had really gotten to him. He felt awful for Myra, searching for her missing son when he was right there all the time, making himself cosy in their family without letting anyone know who he really was. It made a shiver go down his spine. He couldn’t understand why Niall would go to the trouble of seeking the McQueens out and then hide his real identity. It didn’t make any sense.

“Oh, don’t be daft,” Frankie said. “You’ve got to live your own lives. I just worry about you. All of you. No matter how old you get or what you do, I’m always going to be fretting over the lot of you.”

Craig nodded. “I know you don’t like John Paul.”

“I don’t know him,” Frankie said. Craig felt a little relief that she was willing to admit that. “You know, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it since you told me,” she continued. “And I don’t really regret how I reacted. I have my reservations, Craig, I can’t help that. You were never interested in boys.”

Craig looked down. “No,” he agreed quietly.

“So can you blame me for thinking he must have... bewitched you in some way?” Frankie said. “Played with your mind.”

Craig met her eyes again. “Or maybe he’s just special.”

Frankie sighed. It was more tired than irritated. “Carmel used to talk about him a lot,” she said. “She doesn’t so much anymore, but she used to. He came in to Evissa a few times to see her actually. He was always a lovely, polite lad.”

Craig smiled. “He’s really nice,” he said. “He’s smart and he’s friendly and he makes me laugh and he cares about his family so much.”

“He still killed someone,” Frankie said. “I’m sorry, but that can’t just be swept under the carpet.”

“I’d do the same if someone hurt Steph,” Craig told her.

“Craig, there’s a difference between saying that and actually doing it,” Frankie replied.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “And luckily not many of us are put in a position where that’s put to the test.”

Frankie nodded thoughtfully, not like she was agreeing, but like maybe she could see his point. Neither of them really knew what they were capable of. No one ever knows until it comes down to the wire.

“I just need you to trust me,” Craig said. “Trust that I’m a good judge of character. Trust that I know what I’m doing. Because I’ve got it all under control. And it’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s really hard being away from him. But he’s not leading me on, I promise you. If you could see him, you’d know that. He’s too fragile, he hasn’t got it in him. He just needs someone on his side.”

He remembered the way that John Paul had nearly broken down from something so simple as a kiss, how he’d clung to Craig like a lifeline as he tried to stop himself from falling apart. It made Craig ache for him. He didn’t know how to put that into words though, so he hoped that what he’d said was enough.

“Of course I trust you, love,” Frankie told him. “You’ve never been the part of this equation that worried me.”

“Just understand why I have to do this and let me do it,” Craig asked. “Because I love him more than anything. And love’s always a little bit dangerous, isn’t it? There’s always a chance that you’ll get your heart broken. I don’t think life would mean much without it though.”

Frankie looked at him. “I remember when everything was exciting like that.”

“It’s not very exciting,” Craig told her. “Mostly it’s just lonely and it hurts.” Frankie’s face filled with sadness and Craig wanted to look away. “It’s worth it though,” he assured her. “For the little moments. And the big picture. I’m working on getting him out of there. I just really need to know it’s going to end happily.”

He could feel himself tear up and Frankie reached for him, pulling him in for a hug. He rested his head on her shoulder, her perfume smelling like childhood comfort to him. He felt weak. But he supposed he was allowed to be weak sometimes. He supposed he was allowed to need a hug from his mum.

“We’re all here for you, Craig,” Frankie told him. “I might not like what you’re doing, but you’ve clearly made your mind up. The thing about having kids is you want to wrap them up in cotton wool, but you can’t. Sometimes you have to let them make mistakes. I don’t have to feel good about it though.”

Craig pulled back slightly to look at her. “I think you nearly said something nice then.”

“Give over, you,” Frankie told him playfully, pulling him back in again.

“I love you, mum,” Craig said.

“I love you too, son,” Frankie told him. “So I don’t want to see you getting hurt any more than you need to.”

Craig nodded. He didn’t want to see himself get hurt either. But sometimes you had to go through the worst of it before you got to the good stuff. All he could do was try to hold onto the belief that this would all be worth it someday.


	33. Chapter 33

It had been a week and Craig was trying very hard not to think about anything. He was trying not to think about the possibility of an appeal being so close, because he knew he needed to leave John Paul to his decision, knew it wasn’t his place to get any more involved than he already was. He was trying not to think about Niall and the secrets that he was keeping. He was trying not to think about Myra and the fact that she was missing more than one son. He was trying not to think about the fact that college was starting back up in a couple of weeks. He had no idea how he was supposed to concentrate on lectures and essays with everything else that was going around in his head.

And so he made a decision to not think. He wrote letters to John Paul and he talked to him on the phone and he went on a shopping trip to buy him a new book. He played on the Xbox with Tom and took him to the park to play football. He hung out with mates. He helped Steph at Mobs and helped his mum at the Dog and tried to fill his time with things that would just make his mind stop. It nearly worked. But nearly wasn’t quite good enough.

He was sitting in his room, penning a letter to John Paul and letting himself get lost in the possibilities, when he heard a knock at the door downstairs. He sighed, putting down his pen and heading off to answer it. When he opened the door, he saw Niall standing at the other side. Craig stared for a moment while Niall offered him a smile.

“Alright, mate?”

“What are you doing here?” Craig asked.

“Came to see Steph,” Niall replied. “She around, is she?”

“No,” Craig said. “And I don’t think she’d want to see you if she was.”

“Funny that,” Niall said, looking at his watch. “This is when she asked me to pick her up.”

Craig stared at him again. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re going to see a film,” Niall explained. “We were going to walk into town, get some snacks, smuggle them in.”

“You and Steph are...?” Craig trailed off, trying to catch up with himself.

“Me and Steph are what?” Niall asked amiably.

“I didn’t know she was talking to you again,” Craig stated.

“Oh, you mean the whole thing with Tom?” Niall said. “Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t have gone off at the kid like that. Wasn’t right. I just had some really important stuff in that folder.”

“Yeah?” Craig asked, the word coming out as a challenge.

“Work stuff,” Niall lied a little too easily. “Anyway, me and Steph talked, sorted it out. I’ve apologised to Tom and all that. We’re alright now.”

“And she just accepted that, did she?” Craig asked.

“Look, mate, we’re all allowed to make mistakes, aren’t we?” Niall replied.

“Some of us make bigger mistakes than others,” Craig responded, looking Niall up and down.

“Yeah, well, I reckon you’d know something about that,” Niall said. “What with you being mates with John Paul. Or, is it more than mates?”

Craig clenched his jaw, felt his hands curling into fists without his consent. It wasn’t just the words that Niall was saying, the implication involved, but also the way in which he was saying it. There was a note of teasing in his voice, of superiority, like there was something so amusing about the whole thing.

“Credit where credit’s due, though, John Paul knows how to get his man,” Niall continued. “No matter how unlikely it might seem.”

“You shut your mouth,” Craig growled, trying to restrain himself. “Don’t talk about him.”

“I’m not havin’ a go,” Niall assured him. “I’ve told you before, John Paul was a mate. I’ve got nothing against the lad.”

“What is your angle?” Craig asked. “Because I can’t work it out. What do you actually want?”

Niall seemed slightly surprised by his outburst. “Sorry, mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why are you so interested in my family when you don’t want anything to do with your own?” Craig asked.

Niall faltered then. He looked completely thrown. “What family?” he asked.

“ _Your_ family,” Craig stated.

Niall gave him a slightly condescending look. “My mum’s dead. Not got much of a family.”

“Your mum’s not dead,” Craig scoffed. “Why are you lying? What are you trying to get out of this? Because I don’t trust you and I don’t want you anywhere near Steph.”

Niall looked confused. “What is it you think you know, Craig? Because you’ve lost me.”

“Stop sniffing around Steph,” Craig told him. “She’s too good for you. And I don’t want her getting caught up in whatever sick game it is that you’re playing, because you’re not on the level. If I’m certain of anything, it’s that.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall challenged, something slightly sinister coming out in his demeanour. “And what makes you so certain? Because, no offence, Craig, but you really don’t know me and you don’t know what you’re talking about. All I want to do is take your sister out to see a film. Last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”

“Stay away from her,” Craig told him. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Niall gave a short laugh. “Aren’t you the one who got beaten up by the gay little mummy’s boy over at Hindley?”

“I told you not to talk about him,” Craig said, feeling himself getting closer to Niall, feeling his self control slipping away from him. He guessed that was what Niall wanted.

“Yeah, you’re giving me a lot of orders,” Niall agreed. “Can’t quite work out where it’s coming from.”

“Just leave my sister alone and we won’t have a problem,” Craig told him.

“Steph’s a big girl,” Niall stated. “She can make her own decisions.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not fully informed, is she?” Craig responded. “She doesn’t know your secrets.”

“And you do, do you?” Niall asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. He was calling Craig’s bluff. Craig told himself not to bite.

“Leave my family alone,” he said. “Sort out your own before you start messing with mine.”

“I told you, I don’t have a family,” Niall stated.

“Don’t lie to me,” Craig told him. “You might have the rest of them fooled, but don’t lie to me.” He exhaled an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “And to think I was actually going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Know better now, don’t I?”

Niall studied him for a moment. There was a thinly veiled layer anger there that let Craig know he was onto something, that he had Niall worried. After a moment, Niall’s face changed to something like a sneer. “You don’t know anything,” he dismissed. He turned around, ready to walk away, and Craig knew that he should let him, but he couldn’t stand being dismissed so easily. He couldn’t stand Niall seeing him as such a laughable threat.

“I know that Myra McQueen’s your mum,” he called.

Niall froze, his body strained, the cogs turning in his brain. Craig immediately felt the cold dread, even before Niall was rushing towards him. The door was slammed shut and Craig was pinned up against the wall without even realising what had happened. He just knew that Niall’s face was too close to his and it was a little harder to breathe than it should be. The look in Niall’s eyes was wild and desperate and more than a little frightening.

“How?” Niall gritted out.

“I...” Craig began haltingly. “Your folder.”

“You looked in my folder?” Niall asked. “You went through my stuff?”

“Kind of,” Craig admitted.

“Did you tell anyone?”

Craig looked at him and thought about the conversation he’d had with Kieron about keeping his mouth shut. Maybe he should have done, but he needed to know what was going on with Niall. For Steph’s sake.

“Did you tell anyone?” Niall demanded.

“No,” Craig said quickly.

Niall released him and began pacing the room, rubbing his hands over his skull like he needed to stop his thoughts from escaping and consuming him. Craig could relate to that feeling all too well. He watched as Niall moved around the room like a caged animal and he felt his own heart beating too quickly inside his chest. There was something slightly dangerous about the situation, but Craig knew it was the only chance he was going to get to have his questions answered.

“Why don’t you just tell her?” he asked quietly, the strained silence seeming to press down on his voice.

Niall dropped his arms to his sides and turned to face him. “She wouldn’t want to know.”

The words were said with such sad certainty that Craig immediately wanted to correct him, tell him that Myra was looking for him too, but he had no way to explain knowing that without incriminating Kieron, without getting himself into deeper trouble. If Niall thought this was just between the two of them, maybe, just maybe, Craig could make him open up.

“She might,” he offered. “You’re her son. I know her family means the world to her.”

“That why she gave me away is it?” Niall asked, anger in his voice. “That why she left me on some church steps and never looked back? Didn’t even give me to a family, someone who would’ve loved me, couldn’t even manage that. No, she just got rid of me like a cheap mistake. Kept the rest of them though, didn’t she? The slags and the cheats and the liars and the brats. How come they were good enough and I wasn’t?”

Craig didn’t know what to say. He’d never looked at Niall as vulnerable before, never seen him without some kind of agenda. He wasn’t sure whether he should really let himself buy this or not. Niall sighed and visibly sagged. Seeing the fight go out of him made something twist inside Craig. He’d seen that look from John Paul before.

“I think you’re underestimating her,” Craig told him. “I think you should give her a chance.”

“She didn’t want me then, why would she want me now?” Niall responded.

“Because she’s an adult now,” Craig said. “And she knows she’s made a mistake.”

“Or she’s glad she got shot of me when she got the chance,” Niall stated. He gave another sigh, ran a hand over his head and sat down on the sofa. Craig watched him for a moment, a man on the edge of being broken, and made another unpleasant comparison to John Paul. He moved over to sit beside him.

“Why are you here if you’re not going to tell her?” he asked.

“Where else am I supposed to go?” Niall asked. The question sounded so childish that it made Craig ache with guilt and pity. Niall looked at him. “I was going to tell her,” he said. “That’s why I found her. But it just...” He trailed off and shook his head. “Six kids. She had room for six kids but she never had room for me. And the more I got to know her, the more I got to know all of them... Sometimes I loved her and sometimes I hated her.”

“She would’ve taken you in,” Craig stated. “She took me in, made me feel like part of the family.”

“Yeah, she loves her waifs and strays does Myra,” Niall agreed, but there was little fondness in his voice. “Took to me straight away, never been anything but kind. Bet she’d treat me different if she knew I was her biggest mistake staring her in the eye.”

“You don’t know that,” Craig insisted. “Maybe she wants to make it up to you.”

“I know you’re fond of that family, but you don’t need to try and play peacemaker,” Niall told him. “Don’t reckon there’d be a place for me anyway. Have you seen them? They’re selfish, they’re rude, they’ve got no class, no respect. They’re out for themselves, the lot of them. Out for whatever they can get and screw everyone else.”

Craig felt himself getting wound up. “They’re not all like that,” he said. “John Paul’s not like that.”

“Ah, John Paul,” Niall said with a sigh. “Golden Boy himself. He’s Myra’s favourite, her special little boy. Gets preferential treatment and all that just for being born with a dick. Guilt complex, that is. Trying to make it up to the little boy she abandoned, trying to do it right this time. I think that’s the part that’s hardest to swallow. All of them look up to him in their own ways. The man of the house. If she’d just kept me, none of them would ever have to worry about anything. It all would’ve turned out alright. I could’ve looked after them.”

Craig looked at him. John Paul was special to that family for being the only boy, so he could understand Niall’s bitterness towards him, but he didn’t feel like he really understood John Paul, understood the pressure he was under. Or maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to step up and be the man of the house so that a child like John Paul wouldn’t have had to.

“You wouldn’t really want to swap places with him right now though, would you?” Craig stated. He didn’t feel like Niall should make it sound as easy as that, like there was some kind of glamour in the life John Paul had been forced into.

Niall levelled his gaze at Craig. “He killed a man and they love him more than ever,” he said numbly. “How does that work, ay?” Craig opened his mouth to object, to tell him to stop making it sound so enviable, but Niall kept talking. “I’d give anything to look after them, all of them,” he said. “To have a family to protect, who’d accept me and trust me and count on me. Anything. Just to be a part of it.”

Craig shook his head. “I’m sure John Paul wouldn’t wish his life on anyone, not even someone who claimed they wanted it.”

“Do you know what it’s like to not be wanted from the second you’re born?” Niall asked. “To spend your entire life passed from pillar to post, no one ever wanting to keep you? Do you know what that feels like? I wouldn’t wish _my_ life on anyone. All I have ever wanted was a family, someone to say that I was good enough, someone who wanted me. John Paul has that. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s a damn sight better than what I’ve got. I just would’ve liked to have gotten the chances he had. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently for me. I know they would’ve turned out differently for him.”

Craig looked down. Maybe all of their lives would’ve been better with Niall around. He would’ve had the maturity to deal with Jimmy better than John Paul did. He would’ve been the head of the house and let John Paul be the kid that he should’ve been. A big brother figure might have done him the world of good.

Craig had expected to feel angry through this confrontation, but mostly he just felt sad now. Niall was right, Craig didn’t know what it was like for him. Craig valued his family, even if they didn’t always get along. He loved living with Steph, loved knowing that he could always count on his mum when it really came down to it, loved that Jack was always on his side, even though he didn’t have to be, even though he didn’t really owe him anything. He even had a certain fondness for Darren in his own strange way, though he didn’t think he’d ever admit it to anyone.

“You should tell them,” he told Niall.

“I want to,” Niall responded. “But it feels like there’s too much at stake. What if she doesn’t want to know? What if she can’t bear to look at me? I don’t think I could take it, take knowing that she was better off without me. I can’t lose this when I’m so close to having a family.”

Craig looked at him and saw a scared little boy. He never expected to see anything like that in Niall. It made him think of John Paul again and he wondered if Niall realised how alike they were. He wondered if he’d want to know.

Maybe Craig had him all wrong from the start. Maybe Steph was safe with this man. But desperation made people irrational and irrational people could never be counted on. Niall wanted a family. Craig’s thoughts led him in one direction.

“Steph and Tom, they come as a package with the rest of us,” he stated. “That’s what family is. Annoying in-laws and little brothers who give you the third degree. You don’t get them without us.”

“I’ll look after her,” Niall assured him.

“You don’t get them without us,” Craig repeated, stressing the point.

“I know that,” Niall told him. “I wasn’t going to try.”

Craig nodded. He was pretty sure he meant it. Sure enough to give him the benefit of the doubt back, even if he was always going to make sure he kept a very close eye on his big sister in the same way she’d always look after him.

Right on cue, Steph came through the door, wearing her Mobs uniform and looking more than a little flustered. “Sorry, sorry, I know I’m really late,” she told Niall. “There was a bit of a pineapple emergency.”

“Sounds nasty,” Niall said dryly.

“Did we miss the film?” Steph asked.

“There’s another showing,” Niall told her. “If you still want to go.”

Steph smiled. “Just let me get changed.”

Craig’s phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out, his stomach flipping in that predictable way as he saw the number. “I’m just going upstairs,” he announced.

“Say ‘hi’ to him from us,” Steph said knowingly. Craig gave her a brief smile before heading up the stairs.

“Hi,” he said into the phone as he closed his bedroom door.

“Hi, Lucy,” John Paul responded.

Craig found himself smiling. “I really needed to be Lucy today.”

“That is a really strange thing to say,” John Paul told him.

Craig laughed, feeling a little of his sadness leave. “Yeah,” he agreed, sitting down on the bed. “I just love you, that’s all.”

“I know you do,” John Paul said, his voice soft and understanding in a way that made Craig hold the phone tighter. “I love you too, babe.”

“I miss you,” Craig said, lying back on the bed.

“How can you miss me?” John Paul asked. “I’ve never been there for you to miss.”

Craig gave a tired shrug. “I still miss you.”

“I miss you too,” John Paul told him. “You okay? You seem a little... melancholy.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Craig assured him. “I’ve just had a really weird conversation.”

“Yeah?” John Paul prompted.

 _With your brother,_ Craig found himself wanting to say. He felt like he was lying by not telling John Paul. The last thing he wanted between them was secrets. It wasn’t the first time he wished he could unknow something that he’d learnt. He didn’t want the responsibility. He thought back to a time when things were simpler, when all he had to worry about was uni, when he didn’t have the weight of everyone else’s problems on his shoulders. He knew that things weren’t really any better back then though. Being left alone mostly just meant being lonely. Since he’d met John Paul he’d learnt so much about love, platonic and family and romantic. He wouldn’t swap this experience for anything.

“Do you know what I miss?” John Paul asked when Craig didn’t say anything.

“What?” Craig asked.

“Mint choc chip ice cream,” John Paul stated. “You don’t get that here. I really like it.”

Craig smiled. He imagined John Paul eating it, sliding the spoon into his mouth, savouring the taste, rolling it around on his tongue as it softly melted. He imagined the look on his face, imagined his lips around the shiny, silver of the spoon, imagined his tongue darting out to lick at a stray drop that was trying to escape. He shifted on the bed slightly, trying not to make a sound as he licked at his own lips, feeling it through his whole body.

“And I miss not wearing shoes,” John Paul said. “Can’t really walk around in your socks in here.”

Craig had never thought of that before, of not being able to let your guard down to the extent of something as simple as kicking off your shoes and wiggling your toes and relaxing. There seemed something intimate about it now that had never occurred to Craig before. It was something you did in your own home, something you did when you were comfortable. He thought of the way that John Paul’s trainer felt against his ankle when they sat across that table from each other and he wondered what it would feel to have John Paul’s sock there instead.

“Why aren’t you talking?” John Paul asked.

“I’m just thinking,” Craig responded.

“Thinking about me eating mint choc chip ice cream in my socks?” John Paul asked, something friendly and slightly teasing in his voice.

“Pretty much,” Craig agreed. He sighed, slightly frustrated, stretching his free arm above his head. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you.”

“So tell me,” John Paul prompted.

Craig felt himself blush slightly. “I can’t.”

“Course you can,” John Paul insisted. “It’d make my day. Better than ice cream.”

“Even mint choc chip ice cream?” Craig asked, knowing that he was stalling, knowing that John Paul would know it too.

“Just talk,” John Paul said softly, encouragingly. Craig sighed and closed his eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” he said. “You’re a really good kisser.”

“Yeah, I am,” John Paul agreed.

Craig gave a soft laugh. “I want to...” he stopped, the images in front of his eyelids but he couldn’t think of the words for them. He didn’t think he knew any words that beautiful. “I just want to touch you,” he said. “Everywhere, all over, I want to learn every inch, commit it to memory. I mean, when you think of sex you think of... But I just want to touch you and kiss you and be vulnerable and intimate and together and I’d probably embarrass myself in about thirty seconds flat from that alone.”

“I’d probably embarrass myself quicker than that,” John Paul told him. “And I know I said once that I didn’t miss it, didn’t really think about it, and I didn’t, but... now I kind of do. Like, every second of every day like I’m fifteen again. Especially since... when we met Katharine.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Me too.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, letting the memory run over him, touching him everywhere. “I want the other stuff too,” he felt the need to assure John Paul. “All of it. Just so you know. I mean, I practiced a couple of times and it didn’t feel so terrible, so...”

“Okay, you’re killing me now,” John Paul told him.

“Sorry,” Craig said, his cheeks burning brightly now, his eyes squeezed shut.

“No, you can absolutely keep talking,” John Paul insisted. “Details would not go amiss.”

Craig gave a small laugh, but neither of them spoke. They just listened to each other’s breaths and let their minds drift. Craig rolled onto his side, imagined John Paul there with him. He imagined him in jeans and a T-shirt and socked feet, relaxed after a day at uni or maybe a night DJing. He imagined their hands touching in a natural way that didn’t mean anything except that they were comfortable. There would be no expectations, nothing to live up to or prove to one another. Being together would be enough and it would lead them wherever they wanted to go.

“You know what else I miss?” John Paul asked, his own mind clearly wandering with him.

“What?” Craig asked, idly touching the bed beside him.

“Stars,” John Paul said. “You never really see them here, not properly. It doesn’t get dark enough. There’s always lights on outside and things getting in the way of the view. It’s not like I even used to look at the stars when I could, but I miss them now. I wish I could see them again. They’re kind of comforting, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed.

“Yeah,” John Paul repeated.

Craig made a mental note to look at the stars tonight, and maybe name them all after John Paul. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “You can get it all back though,” he told John Paul. “You don’t miss anything that won’t be waiting for you when you get out.”

John Paul was quiet and Craig hoped that he didn’t think he was pushing. He wasn’t pushing. Eating mint choc chip ice cream and being able to kick off your shoes and looking up at the stars, all of those things would be there, whether in a few months time or thirteen years. He wished that he had a way to express that thought. He wished that he was as eloquent as John Paul so that things never had to get confused.

Craig found himself thinking about secrets again, about telling the truth and hiding the truth and how anything could get confused if you weren’t willing to be open about it. He thought back to when he was hiding his feelings from John Paul, how complicated and unbearable everything became, simply because he was hiding something, because he wasn’t being honest. And while other people’s secrets might still haunt him, it felt so good to not have any of his own.

He thought back over the conversation they’d just shared and it occurred to him how far John Paul had come as well. There was a time when John Paul was unwilling to talk about himself, about how hard it was for him to be separated from everything that made up his life. Being weak and vulnerable in front of anyone else had always terrified him, but today he’d offered up a list of simple things that he missed without even needing to be prompted and he’d handed it to Craig as though it didn’t mean anything. Craig knew different. Craig knew that it meant _everything_.

“So, what’s going on with you today?” John Paul asked.

“My boyfriend’s making me smile,” Craig responded effortlessly.

“Good for him,” John Paul said.

“Good for me too,” Craig replied. “Don’t know what I’d do without him. You. Sorry I was distracted. Other people’s problems.”

“Yeah, they have a habit of getting in the way, don’t they?” John Paul stated.

“Not anymore,” Craig told him. “Not right now. You have my full attention.”

“Hmm,” John Paul considered. “I wonder what I should do with it.”

Craig smiled, falling easily back into flirty conversation. He might be missing out on a lot of the important parts of a relationship with John Paul because they were separated, but moping about it and wishing for change wasn’t going to help. Right now, they were alone together and Craig wasn’t going to think about anything but this.


	34. Chapter 34

Craig took the magazine off the shelf and shoved it into the basket along with his snacks. Something to keep him entertained on the train journey to Hindley. He’d thought a few times that he should start reading another book and use the time a bit more productively than flicking through a magazine. Maybe he should ask John Paul to recommend one for him. Or maybe they could read one together again. He smiled at the thought and went over to the till to pay.

Shoving the magazine into his bag, Craig stepped out of Drive ‘N’ Buy and into the late summer morning. It was one of those days where the sun gently warmed your skin through your clothes, pleasant and tactile. Craig took a breath and looked around the village, knowing that everything would feel wonderful to him today, simply because he was seeing John Paul.

He spotted Niall sitting over by the fountain. He was hunched over slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees. It was the stance of someone with a lot of their mind. Craig slung his bag over his shoulder and headed in his direction.

“Alright?” he asked.

He’d been keeping a close eye on Niall since he’d confronted him, not necessarily because he didn’t trust him or because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but because secrets weighed heavy and Craig knew what it was like to try and hold that burden alone. Sometimes it was simply too much.

Niall looked up at him. He seemed tired, worn down. “Not so bad,” he replied, not bothering to put much cheer into the words. “Just grabbing some fresh air. That Carmel don’t half go on sometimes.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Craig responded.

He sat down opposite Niall, looking over at him. He wondered what it was like for him, working with his little sister, seeing her every day, but never feeling like he could say a word. Never feeling ready or worthy. He bet out of all of them, Carmel would be the first to give him a hug and invite him round for tea. He had a feeling Niall knew that too.

“She’s a sweetheart really,” Niall commented. “Too naive for her own good, mind.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Craig agreed. “But that’s what makes her such a good friend.”

Niall nodded absently. “She’ll get her heart stomped on again.”

“Give her some credit,” Craig told him. “She’s got more self preservation than you’d think.”

He actually really admired Carmel, and he wondered if he’d ever told her that. Yeah, she was blonde, and kind of an airhead, and she tottered around and took beauty far too seriously and thought that the colour pink could actually make a person happy. But she was a fighter in there. She’d been through a lot and she never let it beat her. By living her life and letting herself love, she was refusing to let Jimmy win. She wasn’t going to let him define her. It was a strength that Craig felt he could only dream of.

“Solving the problems of the universe, are ya?” Myra asked, heading over to the pair of them.

“What?” Craig asked.

“You’re both sittin’ here looking dead thoughtful,” Myra stated. “What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Craig dismissed with a shake of his head.

“Like that is it?” Myra teased. “Must be juicy then.” She put her hand on Niall’s shoulder, an almost unconscious motion as she stood beside him. “You alright, love?”

“Yeah,” Niall said, offering her a tired smile.

Craig gazed at the two of them, looking so much like a mother and son that he wondered how Myra could not know. He wondered if she did, on some kind of unconscious level. He wondered if she could feel the maternal tug that Craig saw so plainly before him now. She mothered Craig and she’d mothered Kieron, but the way she mothered Niall looked different somehow. Maybe Craig was simply seeing what he already knew. It was easy to read too much into a situation.

But if Craig could see it, he knew that Niall must see it too, and he wondered how he could keep his mouth shut in the face of such kindness. Myra cared when he was sad and laughed with him when he was happy and threw him birthday parties and invited him over for Christmas dinner. She treated him like a son whether he was one or not. Somehow Craig knew that that must hurt Niall more, his mother not wanting him when he was born, but accepting him now under a different guise.

Craig felt bad for having judged Niall so harshly. Maybe there was something about him that didn’t sit quite right, maybe it was strange to stalk your own family without letting them know who you were, but life hadn’t been easy for Niall. Maybe all he needed was a chance. A chance to be the person he could have been all along. Then maybe he’d be ready to take on the role of son and become the big brother and protector that he’d always wanted to be.

“Here, aren’t you goin’ to see our John Paul today?” Myra asked.

“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “Was just on my way.”

“You better get a move on then,” Myra told him. “Don’t you be late. I’m not having him sitting around waiting for you.”

“On my way,” Craig assured her, getting to his feet.

Myra gave him a warm smile. “You give him my love, alright?”

“Will do,” Craig promised.

“Yeah, give him my best too, won’t you?” Niall added.

Craig nodded and offered a comforting smile. A silent understanding stretched between them before Craig turned around and headed on his way.

The train journey to the prison always left Craig full of mixed emotions. It was a nervous anticipation that he could never quite reconcile himself with. On the one hand, he was excited, looking forward to spending some time with John Paul, to being physically close to him, even if it would never be quite close enough. But he hated that place, hated the fact that John Paul was stuck there, and every time he walked through those doors, he still felt a little bit sick. Every time he didn’t quite want to go back there.

As the train sped along the tracks and the scenery blurred around him, Craig read his magazine and tapped his foot restlessly up and down, trying to push the unpleasantness aside. He knew that once he saw John Paul, none of this would really matter, not until it was time to say goodbye. Nothing could touch him when it was just the two of them, defiant within an impossible situation. But then, nothing was really impossible. If falling for John Paul had taught him anything, it was that. Sometimes hope was where you least expected it.

When Craig arrived at the prison, he let himself go through the motions, making little ceremony of handing over his visiting order or putting the trimmings of the outside world away in a locker for the duration of his visit, his mobile phone and his wallet and his magazines, none of which were allowed inside the visiting hall any more than illegal substances would be, like they’d somehow infect the prison with a world that had no place there.

The only thing he could take in was some small change in his pocket, and he was searched to make sure that was all he had, something that Craig always found equal parts humiliating and intimidating. If you wanted to consort with criminals, you had to be treated like one. But Craig wasn’t a criminal and John Paul wasn’t one either. They were just two people who’d gotten lost, and while they may have found each other and found themselves, the world was yet to catch up and so they were forced into roles that didn’t quite fit.

Craig found that he rarely thought of it in those terms anymore though. It was routine, and there was both a comfort and a worry in that. The labels that people had placed on them, the labels they had placed on themselves, they had melted away and left them with something true, something worth fighting for. Craig knew with every step that he took that there was more than a slight chance he was setting himself up for a fall, but he had to believe in this, in what they had, if nothing else.

Maybe it wouldn’t pay off, maybe he’d be left with nothing but hurt. If this didn’t go the way he hoped and prayed and dreamed, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever get over it. And so he went through the motions and he lived day to day in the moments that they created together, like fragile little bubbles that shone beautifully as they floated in the breeze but were never guaranteed to last until they hit the floor.

Stepping into the visiting hall, Craig was immediately caught up in John Paul. He looked so young and yet so battered by the world, such contradiction in his blond hair and blue eyes and youthful features that spoke of so many things going on under that calm surface.

Craig didn’t think he’d ever really believed the indifference that John Paul put forward. He’d seen something in him from that first visit, something he couldn’t put a name to at first, something almost indefinable, but it was there. He was scared and he was strong and he was crying out for someone to just be on his side, even though he never really believed that he deserved it. It made Craig sad that he could still see those same three things in him today. John Paul was still that scared little kid who needed a push to believe in himself. No matter how strong he got, Craig still got the impression that he couldn’t do it on his own.

He slipped into the seat opposite John Paul and gave him a small smile, earning himself one back in return.

“You alright?” Craig asked automatically. John Paul gave him an ironic smile and then looked down at his hands.

“I’ve been worse,” he responded. He looked back up at Craig. “How about you?”

Craig nodded. “Yeah, you know, pretty good.”

John Paul rolled his eyes. “Be more enthusiastic. It won’t break my heart.”

Craig looked at him for a moment. John Paul was acting in that slightly guarded, slightly withdrawn way he used to when they first started meeting, when he had too much to hide and too much to lose. It made Craig a little uneasy, but he told himself there could be a million reasons for it.

“Well, it’s just the same old stuff, y’know,” he said with a shrug. “Playing a bit of footie, entertaining Tom, working.” John Paul’s eyes fell down, like maybe he was bored or lost in thought. “Went for a drink with Hannah the other day,” Craig offered. “We met up with some uni mates.”

“Yeah?” John Paul asked, a fondness coming over his face.

“She was asking after you,” Craig told him. “She still misses you like mad.” John Paul nodded, and Craig could tell he missed her too. “Actually, I saw your mum this morning,” Craig said. “She told me to give you her love. Niall said to give you his best too.”

John Paul looked up finally, seeming slightly amused. “You’re passing messages on from Niall? I was under the impression you couldn’t stand him.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t stand him,” Craig fumbled, finding himself over conscious of the fact he was talking about John Paul’s brother, even if John Paul didn’t know it. “It’s just that, I don’t know, sometimes people can surprise you. You never know what’s going on under the surface.”

“It’s taken you this long to work that out?” John Paul asked with a slight laugh. “I’d say something about judging a book by its cover, but you never read the books anyway, do you?”

“I was thinking I should start actually,” Craig said. “Use my travelling time wisely when I come and see you.” John Paul looked down, pressing his lips tightly together while he played with his hands. Craig wondered if he’d said something wrong, put his foot in it somehow. “Got any recommendations?” he asked, trying to draw John Paul out again.

“I don’t know,” John Paul replied simply, like he wasn’t going to put any effort into thinking about it. He looked up suddenly and met Craig’s eyes again. “Listen, thanks for those stars,” he said.

Craig smiled and John Paul smiled too, looking almost wistful. After their conversation on the phone, when John Paul had been so open and freely admitted to things that he missed, Craig had gone out and bought some little plastic glow in the dark stars for him. If he couldn’t have the real thing, maybe those would help for now.

“Do they work?” Craig asked.

“Light up my cell every night after lights out,” John Paul told him. “I really love them. I lay on my bed and stare at them and think of you. So, yeah, they work.”

He looked down, almost bashfully, chewing on his lip. He looked at his hands and then he looked at Craig’s, his own fingers seeming to strain to bridge the gap between them. Craig wanted to reach out and it hurt him that he couldn’t. It was so obvious that John Paul needed that comfort right now, but they were trapped by circumstances and this was as close as they were allowed to get.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Craig asked. John Paul just nodded, still staring at Craig’s hands. “Is there something going on?”

John Paul looked up then. He licked his lips, fidgeting slightly. “I’m just trying to find the right way to say it,” he replied. Craig felt his stomach flip, felt his skin seem to heat and contract against him, pressing down and making him itch. John Paul suddenly smiled. “Don’t look like that,” he told him. He looked around the room for a moment and Craig studied him carefully, unsure and more than a little apprehensive. “Look, do you mind getting me a drink?” John Paul asked. “I mean, if you’ve got some money,” he said awkwardly. “If you don’t mind.”

Craig shook his head and forced a smile. “Course not. I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Thanks,” John Paul told him, offering a smile that looked as conflicted as Craig’s.

Craig got out of his seat and headed over to the vending machines, punching in the now familiar selections. His foot tapped restlessly as he waited for the drinks. He’d gotten good at reading John Paul’s body language, at seeing those barely there signs of what he was thinking, but he had no idea what this meant. He was nervous about whatever he had to say, but his obvious amusement over Craig’s reaction told him that it couldn’t be as bad as he thought it was. It couldn’t be. John Paul wouldn’t have laughed if it was. They were in this together, and John Paul still looked like he was on Craig’s side, despite whatever he had to reveal. Craig repeated that fact to himself as he headed back over to the table with their drinks.

“Thank you,” John Paul said firmly with a grateful smile. “And stop looking so scared. It’s not scary. It’s just...”

He sighed, looking down and seeming embarrassed, which really made Craig wonder. With his head bowed and his cheeks coloured he looked more like someone with a naughty secret than a serious one. Craig’s mind started to go to predictable places before he could stop it. John Paul took a sip of his drink and took a deep breath, like he was trying to centre himself or psyche himself up. Craig watched the way his fingers played with the little plastic coffee cup.

“Right, so, I saw Katharine yesterday,” John Paul said, a certain determination in his voice to get through this. “The lawyer,” he added, as though Craig needed reminding.

“Why didn’t she say anything to me?” Craig asked, almost to himself. “I could’ve come with her.”

“Maybe because she’s my lawyer, not yours,” John Paul responded. He looked down at his cup, played with it some more. “Anyway, look, we made this decision,” he said.

“Yeah?” Craig asked. He could feel his heart beating faster, feel anticipation leaking through his whole body. He held his breath as he waited for John Paul to keep speaking.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed. He stared down into his coffee. The silence stretched on for so long that Craig thought he was going to go mad. “So, erm... Well, we’re going to go ahead with this appeal. She’s gonna set the ball rolling. I told her to set the ball rolling.”

Craig smiled so wide he thought his face might split open. He wanted to jump up and down, wanted to shout and scream, wanted to hug John Paul and spin him around and share this wonderful moment. He didn’t know how he managed to stay seated.

“Seriously?” he asked. John Paul just nodded. “That’s amazing,” he stated. A smile twitched at the side of John Paul’s lips as he gave a shrug. “John Paul,” Craig said firmly, calling his attention. John Paul met his eyes with a certain amount of reluctance. “I’m proud of you,” Craig stated.

John Paul gave an amused smile and a slight eye roll, looking off to the side. He focused on Craig again. “Look, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up,” he said. “I mean, it’s a long way off being a sure thing. Katharine thinks I’m in with a shot. She said it was pretty shitty how it all happened last time. But there’s no guarantee. You need to remember that.”

“You’re allowed to be a little bit excited,” Craig told him.

“Mostly I’m just scared,” John Paul admitted. “Scared that it won’t work. Scared of letting myself believe it to have it all ripped away again. Scared of letting everyone down. Scared of going through it all.”

His eyes were glistening and Craig could see how much was at stake for him here. He’d always known this would be hard, that he was asking something huge of John Paul. But at the same time, he knew he wasn’t being entirely selfish. When Craig first met John Paul, he’d given up on himself, and for one reason or another, everyone around him had just let him. They’d let him shut down and keep them at arm’s length, maybe because they were scared of being pushed away all together or maybe because they knew how fragile he was and were afraid that if they pushed, he’d just shatter into a million pieces and none of them would be able to put him back together again.

Craig had felt that way too, on more than a few occasions. John Paul was volatile and unpredictable, his emotions immature and unformed. He was a child when he went in there and he was trying to act like a grown up without ever really understanding what that meant. He was lost. Craig didn’t think he could take credit for having found him, but he was fairly sure he’d gone some way to help John Paul find himself, helped him remember who he was before people started telling him he was a monster and he had little option but to believe them.

He helped John Paul be a teenager and feel the things that teenagers felt. He helped him live again. Sometimes it felt cruel, like he was showing him what he was missing, but in the end, it did its job. It made him face up to the fact that he wanted more, and finally he was taking the first painful step on an uncertain journey. He didn’t know if he was on his way home or just walking in circles, but he was taking the risk, and that alone showed just how much he truly had grown up.

“You’re not going to let anyone down,” Craig assured him. “I don’t care what happens, I don’t care what the outcome is, you could never let any of us down. We care about you far too much.”

John Paul looked down, like he didn’t quite know what to do with that compliment. Maybe he didn’t. He took a sip of his coffee and met Craig’s eyes again. “I’m doing something that might be silly,” he said.

“What?” Craig asked.

“I’m pushing for a verdict of self-defence,” John Paul said, and Craig found himself wondering what could possibly be silly about that. “Katharine talked me through it all and she recommended that I plead guilty to manslaughter,” John Paul explained. “She said it would get my sentence reduced enough that she could get me out pretty much straightaway, with what I’ve already served and the fact that I’m not much trouble in here and everything. But, I just...” He sighed and shook his head. “I know it’s stupid, but I can’t do it. After everything that Jimmy Hudson put my family through, I need him to take the blame. I need it to be his fault. It _is_ his fault. And I know that he’s dead and putting a label on him isn’t really going to do any good, but all I was doing that night was trying to protect Carmel. I’m sick of looking like the bad guy in all this. And I know that to anyone who matters I’m not. I know that you and my family and everyone, they know. But I need him to be accountable. He shouldn’t get off the hook, not for everything he did to Carmel. Maybe it’s too little, too late, but I need to get justice for her. Then we can all move on properly. It’d be done.”

John Paul looked down again, turning his coffee cup around in his hands. Maybe he was cutting his chances slightly by going for this verdict, but Craig couldn’t help but admire him for it. There was a time when he found John Paul’s blind devotion to Carmel sad, like he was stuck in that night fighting off the bad things to protect her, like it was his job in life to look after others instead of himself. He could see though that this was something else. Yes, he was looking out for Carmel just like he always did, but it was the way he talked about moving on. John Paul had never moved on from that moment when he stabbed Jimmy Hudson in the chest, he’d never truly left that room, never really dropped the knife. In his head, he was still there. Now, he was ready to end it. He was ready to face whatever came next.

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” he told John Paul.

John Paul looked up at him, his eyes full of so much emotion. He seemed touched. He seemed grateful. It was like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to say that to him. With the tiniest of smiles and a sigh, John Paul took a sip of his coffee and leaned further forward in his chair, bridging the gap between them as far as he could. There was still a table between them, a cold hard barrier, but for the first time since Craig had sat across from John Paul like this, it felt temporary.

John Paul had told him not to get his hopes up and Craig was being realistic about the chances and the risks. This was a long road, one undoubtedly filled with pain, with longing, with suffering and maybe even ending in heartbreak. The odds had been stacked against them from the start. Craig believed in John Paul, but getting a courtroom to believe in him was another matter entirely. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many things that could catch him out, and if John Paul didn’t get the verdict he was looking for, Craig was scared it would destroy him, destroy what they had. He was scared it would be the final blow.

Craig knew all of this. But Craig also knew that the heart and the head rarely got along and so, despite himself, he hoped.


End file.
